


Pride (Didn't) Go Before The Fall

by Shilyn18



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 369,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shilyn18/pseuds/Shilyn18
Summary: Slight AU. Solas never broke up with Lavellan at Crestwood and has spent the last 2 years living a double life, struggling to be both Fen'Harel and Inquisitor Lavellan's Fade expert. All that changes when Lavellan attends the Exalted Council to decide the Inquisition's fate. Her love life soon takes center stage, however, when she discovers she's pregnant and the father, Solas, has disappeared. After learning the truth about Solas, Lavellan is determined to save the People at his side, but not if it means destroying Thedas. She can find another way. But will Solas listen?





	1. Prologue: Stormheart Arrowhead

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on my fanfic .net account back in 2016 under my pen name Shilyn. It is finished there and I will update this probably daily until it's done here, too.
> 
> I'm very new here so I'm not sure about the ratings. This story is intended for Mature audiences with sex and violence, but I didn't think I needed any huge warnings on it. If anyone disagrees, please let me know and I will change that accordingly!  
> My original notes from that posting:  
> A/N: I kept having a recurring fantasy, wondering how things would have panned out for Lavellan and Solas had he not ended their relationship at Crestwood and then left after defeating Corypheus. The idea wouldn't leave me and soon I was thinking about how Solas could have juggled being the Inquisitor's lover and Fen'Harel simultaneously for those two years and how it would inevitably fall apart at the Exalted Council no matter what he did. Then of course I couldn't resist the thought of complicating things with an unplanned pregnancy and this story was born.
> 
> The only dramatic AU change is that in this reality Solas was "too weak" to break off the romance with Ellana Lavellan and stayed with her and the Inquisition after Corypheus' defeat. Other than that it's just Trespasser DLC to start with. This prologue has a sex scene FYI...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas returns after an extended absence with an enchanted gift. Sexy times commence.

The golden light of the candle on Ellana Lavellan's desk flickered as the door to her bedchamber opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. She didn't lift her head from the parchment, assuming it was her maid with the evening meal.

"Just leave it, please," she said, concentrating on each character in the letter. It was her reply to Divine Victoria, otherwise known as Cassandra, who'd sent them official word only two days ago that in six weeks they'd be expected to take part in the Exalted Council.

Footsteps entered the room, soft and slow. It wasn't the tread of her maid Millie. As Ellana looked up, blinking, her eyes opened wide as simultaneously her visitor spoke, "Vhenan."

"Solas," she said, breathing his name in a whisper. She put her pen back in its inkwell and rubbed at her eyes. "Did I fall asleep?"

"We are awake," he said and chuckled. She watched him move with the catlike grace she'd grown to love so much over the last few years, his feet almost soundless. She wanted to rise from her seat and embrace him but something stiff and stubborn—and wounded—kept her rooted to her seat.

Solas sat with a sigh at the end of her bed, setting his wooden staff down on the side closest to the door. He'd claimed that side as his own when he'd started sharing her bedchambers openly after the defeat of Corypheus. Back when he'd spent every night with her as her dedicated lover. Back when Millie and all of her advisers knew better than to enter the room without multiple loud knocks on the door and a few warning shouts.

She clenched her jaw, trying not to feel the stab of worry and pain in her chest. She missed those days and didn't dare let herself hope they'd ever begin again.

"You're upset," he said. It wasn't a question. He must've seen her expression, though he had only met her gaze for a moment before he began unslinging the pack he always wore while traveling.

"I missed you," she said and frowned at how hard her voice sounded. "I don't suppose you'll tell me now where you were or what you were doing?"

His pack thumped on the floor and he rolled his shoulders in their sockets. Ellana didn't miss the pop of a joint. "I apologize for my long absence," he said, shooting her a sidelong glance that she couldn't quite read. "I could not take the main roads for fear of bandits and Templars." He paused and his mouth worked into a frown. "And slavers."

"Solas," Ellana said, closing her eyes and covering her face with both hands as she found herself suddenly hot and shaky with some ugly, frustrated emotion she couldn't quite name. "You were gone almost three months. All spring."

"I know, vhenan," he said, sounding tired. "I am sorry. I reached out to you in dreams as often as I could."

She thumped her hands down on the desk and felt a brief, hard twist of satisfaction inside her when Solas' head jerked toward her. His blue-gray eyes met hers before he looked away. Was that shame she saw?

"Please, Solas," she said, the words quiet but her tone angry. "Where did you go? Why?" She closed her lips against the other words that pressed against her lips: Is there someone else? Have you tired of me? Have you chosen the Fade over me?

He met her gaze now, his lips twisting in a small smile. "I revisited the temple of Mythal."

Staring at him without blinking, Ellana waited for him to elaborate. After the silence stretched for several long seconds Solas dropped his gaze to his lap and absently brushed at his leggings as if cleaning off dust. When he looked up again his expression had softened. "I had hoped to find an artifact similar to the one Corypheus possessed in order to possibly gain a greater understanding of the magic used."

_The artifact again,_ Ellana thought and kept herself from frowning with an effort. Solas had mourned that orb like it was a prized family heirloom and not just some oddity of unknown and dangerous power. It'd taken weeks for him to stop brooding about it after the final battle with Corypheus left it shattered.

"Did you have any luck?" she asked, letting a little tension out of her shoulders. The temple was a month's journey away by direct roads and Solas had said he hiked through the wilderness to avoid danger.

He shook his head, his lips down turned at the corners. "Unfortunately, no. However…" He leaned down to his discarded pack and began riffling through it until he pulled out a small square of blue silk tied into a knot. "I did find this."

Curiosity won out over her caution and lingering frustration with him. Ellana rose from her desk and strode to take the proffered silk knot. She tugged it loose carefully, opening the flaps of fabric to expose an arrowhead made of a dark green stone. A thin strip of black leather had been circled around the arrowhead's base, creating a necklace. Touching it with the fingers of her other hand, Ellana felt them tingle and sensed magic.

"It's made of stormheart. I found it in what was once an armory near the temple of Mythal," Solas explained, his voice quiet and soothing.

She almost closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, letting him lull her into complacency, but shook it off. "Did you enchant it?"

"I did," he answered and she heard the smile in his voice. "It will strengthen barriers cast over you." He chuckled and she cursed herself for nearly shivering at the velvety sound. "You've grown familiar with my magic, vhenan," he commented. "You may have latent talents yet."

"Not as familiar as I'd like," she murmured and dared meet his eye now, willing herself not to be upset but to move on. She had news. "I'm hoping you can take a break from wandering the wilds for a few months to accompany me to the Exalted Council."

His brow furrowed and his lips thinned. Her heart fell. Was he really about to say no to this? Instead he said, "Must you attend?"

She scoffed, shaking her head in consternation. "Solas—I am Inquisitor. Have you been away so long you've forgotten that?"

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth as Solas' shoulders slumped and he crossed his arms over his chest. It was the body language of someone withdrawing from an unpleasant situation. "I did not mean for my absence to hurt you." He closed his eyes. "I thought of you every moment I was away." He paused a moment and then shook his head. "I do not want to have this argument with you, emma lath."

"Then perhaps you should not leave me for weeks on end to worry about you," she muttered, staring down at the beautiful stormheart arrowhead and blinking as angry tears sprang into her eyes. "Please come with me to the council," she said with a sigh. "I need your guidance."

"I doubt you will need a Fade expert at Halamshiral," Solas said, inching backward as if trying to run.

"Not a Fade expert," she countered, scowling. "Just you, emma lath." Why was he resisting so much?

Solas' jaw clenched and he raised his eyes to meet her gaze, a hard expression twisting his features. "Ellana," he said, using her name, "I do not wish to upset you, but with Corypheus now dead almost two years, I have come to believe the Inquisition no longer has purpose and will sink to corruption. The Inquisition should be disbanded to prevent such. There is no need for this Exalted Council."

Stunned, Ellana gawped for a moment, baffled and speechless. Solas had warned her on occasion that she should watch for spies as the Inquisition grew and changed. He'd counseled her on that even before Corypheus' defeat. Yet he'd never put it so bluntly before.

"We keep the peace," she said, shaking her head. Her eyes fell to the arrowhead still on its silk. Anger made her want to push it back at him, reject it. She didn't, clenching her fist around it instead. "We have purpose. We can't disband."

"Have you forgotten your position?" he asked, eyes narrowed slightly in challenge, the way he often did when trying to reeducate her on some bit of incorrect Elvhen history. "You are Inquisitor. You have but to give the order and it will be done."

"You expect me to just order everyone to lay down arms and go home?" she asked, her voice a growl. "It would be anarchy. The Inquisition does more good than either Orlais or Ferelden right now."

He looked exhausted, head drooping forward. "I'm sorry if this upsets you, but—"

"If you don't want to be here anymore, Solas—with me or with the Inquisition…" She broke off, sucking in a shaky breath as she thrust her fist with the silk square and the stormheart arrowhead inside it toward his chest. "Then go." Her jaw squared and her stomach clenched as Ellana waited for him to react.

Instead of anger or frustration or even more exhaustion, Solas appeared stricken, as if she'd slapped him. They stared at each other for a moment and Ellana watched as Solas' expression flashed something like despair for a moment before he seemed to shake his head once, as if shrugging off a spell. Then, slow but deliberate, he reached both his hands to her clenched fist holding the silk and held it in his grip, gentle but firm.

Staring at her over their joined hands, he said, _"Ar lath ma, vhenan._ Once we defeated Corypheus I did not stay to help the Inquisition. I stayed for you and only you."

She exhaled, suddenly realizing she'd been holding her breath. Her left hand burned along the mark, reacting to the stormheart arrowhead. The pain, though minor, broke the moment between them as Ellana hissed. She transferred the square of silk to her other hand and opened her left palm, staring into it to check on the Anchor.

Solas' gaze stayed on her, watching with a small frown. "Has it done this often?" he asked.

"No," she answered, flexing her hand.

Solas held her right hand, gently opening her palm and taking the stormheart arrowhead with a somber darkness in his deep gray eyes. "The Anchor is sensitive to Elvhen magic, as I suspected." He sighed. "I had not thought it would be this responsive."

"I thought you enchanted the arrowhead?" Ellana asked, then flashed a crooked, teasing smile. "Unless you're just looking to impress me passing off ancient Elvhen magic as your own."

His eyes flicked from the arrowhead to her and narrowed for a moment—he hadn't apparently found her comment funny. But after a beat he grinned. "I am a descendant of Elvhenan, as are you. My magic must be close enough for the Anchor to react. But I was of course looking to impress you." Slowly Solas unwound the thin leather strip from the arrowhead and stretched it, putting it over her head. "Yet," he whispered, "it is you who have impressed me, vhenan."

She laughed, using her right hand to touch the arrowhead where it hung at the base of her throat now. "And how do I impress you?"

He edged closer, his right hand rising to cup her cheek in a caress. "You are a marvelous spirit with wisdom to rival the ancients. You have changed this world, defeated Corypheus, and wielded unfathomable power spiritually and physically with an Inquisition that rivals nations. And yet you have not let it tarnish your virtue."

Laughing again, Ellana laid her hands on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his tunic. "How odd you should say that," she purred. "Because I'm having less than virtuous thoughts at the moment."

"As am I," he replied, his other hand moving to her waist and tugging her tight against him. He leaned into her, inhaling deeply. "How I missed you."

"And I you." Her heart pounded and her stomach flip-flopped with anticipation. Three months alone made her ache for him despite his vague explanation of where he'd been and what he'd been doing. Whatever spell he'd cast over her, Ellana had given up trying to escape it.

Solas closed the gap between them, kissing her with a hunger that made her moan with want. His hand at her waist dropped lower, pressing her hips to his. She arched into him, eager to feel his skin against her own. She opened her mouth to him and his tongue swept in to meet hers. He tasted of mint and something else that made her think of the delicious flavor of minerals dissolved in spring water.

The months apart dissolved away along with her tension as she slid her hands to his waist, gripping his belt and unlatching it. He sighed against her mouth, breaking away to trail soft kisses along her jaw and into the crook of her neck. His hands dug under her shirt to stroke his blunt nails over her bare skin. With a shiver, Ellana did the same, slipping her hands under his tunic.

"To bed then, vhenan?" he asked, nibbling her ear.

She shivered again, groaning as one of his hands found her breast. "Yes." She twisted her head to capture his lips again, breathing fast already. She let her right hand fall to the hard lump of his arousal and squeezed.

He broke the kiss to gasp, his breath shaky and his eyelids fluttering. "It has been far too long."

"It has," she agreed, her voice husky as she stepped back from him and undressed. Her skin felt warm under his hungry stare. He shed his clothing, somehow managing to do it both quickly and gracefully. Then he folded her in an embrace, his skin warm and smelling earthy, like pine.

They transitioned to the bed and Ellana pinned Solas beneath her, capturing his lips for another long, passionate kiss. When they broke it, breathing fast, Solas' eyes were wide and dark, dilated with his desire, but his features were soft with love. He stroked the arrowhead against her breastbone. Something like melancholy made his brow knit. "I should not have left you so long. Can you forgive me?"

"Will you come to the Exalted Council with me?" she countered, gripping his hand at her throat with her own and lifting his fingers to her mouth.

Hunger erased the sadness, just as she'd planned. "How could I not?"

Grinning, she kissed him again and maneuvered her hips, taking him inside her. He gasped against her mouth but she wouldn't let him go, keeping a grip on his shoulder with her free hand. He grabbed hold of her hip and moaned as she moved over him.

She sighed, indulging and enjoying herself with the taste of his mouth and then breaking the kiss to nuzzle his ear. He shuddered and held her as he sat up, moving with her as she ground against him.

"How long can I keep you tonight?" he asked, moaning with pleasure into her ear. His breath was hot as it puffed against her neck.

"All night," she said and laughed as he made a velvety noise in the back of his throat, apparently appreciating that length of time. "I won't let you escape now. You have three months to make up for."

He kissed her neck, nibbling. "Vhenan…"

The door to Ellana's bedchamber squeaked on its hinges then and a familiar female voice started to say, "I have your meal from the—" Millie cut herself off with a high-pitched croak and scrambled back out the door with the sound of clinking plates on her tray.

"Fenedhis," Solas said, the curse emerging as both growl and groan.

Ellana clung tighter to his shoulders and bit his ear. "Just like old times." As he chuckled she called to Millie, "Leave it there and close the door please. I am not to be disturbed."

"Of course, your worship," the maid said, squeaking. The door whined as it shut and Ellana heard footsteps thumping as they disappeared back down the hallway.

"Strange," Solas said against her skin, sighing as he stroked up and down her back. "She still thinks you divine even after—"

"You think too much," Ellana admonished, laughing as she kissed him again and ground her hips over him. She grinned with satisfaction when he moaned against her mouth. Pulling away to let them both breathe, she said, "Didn't Andraste have an elven lover, too? So it's only fitting."

Solas let out a gasping laugh. "Blasphemy," he teased, smiling and with his eyes half-closed, lidded with pleasure.

She picked up the pace, feeling the slick heat building inside her. Solas supported himself with one hand while the other guided her hips, his legs partway off the bed. She gripped him around the shoulders with both arms, leveraging her body over his lean frame. He kissed her throat as she tossed her head back, crying out as the climax seized her, sending pulses of pleasure through her. Solas grunted through gnashed teeth as he reached the peak just after her, his voice smooth even with orgasm.

Both of them sweaty and panting, Ellana found his lips for another long kiss. She kept clinging to him, moaning her satisfaction with each exhale.

Finally, when she'd caught her breath enough, Ellana chuckled. "I think we're both out of practice."

"Then we must remedy that," Solas said, husky and soft. "How long until the council?"

"Six weeks," she answered, shivering as he caressed her back. "You'll support me regardless of what happens there?"

He nuzzled her neck. _"Ar lath ma, vhenan._ My love is not conditional. I will support you whatever you decide."

She held his face with both hands, staring into his blue-gray eyes. "Promise?"

He smiled and she didn't miss the tinge of sadness in it before he pressed his forehead to hers. "I promise."

"Good," she said, smiling. That will have to do.

___________________________________________________

Author Note: I am still trying to work out how AO3 works. I have end notes for most of my chapters and it seems to display the first chapter's end notes together with the second chapter's end notes. So I am just going to tack them on down here or omit them where I can. 

Elven Words/Phrases

Ar lath ma: I love you

Next Chapter teaser:

"Didn't you know?" Dorian asked, strolling up to within almost arm's length of Solas. He twisted his mustache as he spoke. "It's Ambassador Pavus now. I'm officially the token Tevinter for all of Southern Thedas. Isn't that delightful?"

"I suppose congratulations are in order then. I'm amazed to admit it, but the Imperium finally did something right." He let his smile broaden with a little smug edge to it.

"Yes," Dorian said with a sniff. "But don't say that loud enough for anyone to hear you. My countrymen have quite the reputation at stake what with destroying Arlathan, unleashing the blight on the world, and of course Corypheus and the Venatori." He sighed. "Well, now I've gone and depressed myself."


	2. Of Weddings and Tea with Ginger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and Solas arrive at the Exalted Council in Halamshiral. Hilarity and (for Ellana) inexplicable nausea abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first ever DA fic. Originally posted at fanfic .net in 2016. I had a recurring spelling error in these early chapters. Thought it was "Fen'Haral" back then. Derp. I've tried to catch that in posting here. Apologies if I miss any.

If the musty smell of the horses didn't make Ellana vomit all over her formal attire in front of Halamshiral's nobility it'd be a miracle. The sway of the horse beneath her and the smell of its sweat and the distant stink of the city's sewage and docks all combined to churn her stomach. She stared forward, her head and shoulders held high, and hoped no one noticed her sweating or paleness.

_Fen'Harel's balls,_ she cursed in her head. _What did I eat?_

Behind her, over the clip-clop of the horses' hooves, Ellana heard Josephine and Cullen chitchatting about the challenge awaiting them with the Exalted Council. She tried to focus on that rather than her constant queasiness.

"Another parade, another bloody negotiation," Cullen said, whining. She could imagine the snarl on his face.

"Smile everyone," Josephine admonished, her lovely accent like a caress on Ellana's ears even from a distance. "We must be careful how we present ourselves."

Ellana tried to follow Josephine's advice, but she knew it came out more as a grimace. Above them on terraced balconies she saw the Ferelden flag wafting in the wind. Men stood near it, shooting her and her retinue derisive glares. On the other side of her, also elevated above the common rabble, Ellana saw Orlesian nobles in all their silken finery—and wearing masks of course—despite the warm summertime sunshine beating down on them.

Cullen continued complaining: "Why did Divine Victoria call the Exalted Council? She's kept Orlais from bothering us for the last two years."

"At increasing political cost," Josephine reminded him, quick to defend Cassandra. "She's done all she could but the Exalted Council has now become necessary. Orlais would control us. And based on their many marriage proposals they have very specific plans for you."

Cullen groaned and Ellana heard him shifting on his mount. The horse grunted, jerking its head and making its bridle clink. She resisted the desire to twist and look at his disgusted expression. Poor Cullen had been fending off noblewomen's proposals of marriage ever since the ball over two years ago when Ellana saved Empress Celene from assassination.

_Not to mention reunited her with Briala,_ Ellana thought, smirking for a moment before she saw an Orlesian noble gesture at her and quickly wiped the expression away.

"Our real concern is Ferelden," Josephine went on under her breath. "They would see us disbanded entirely."

_Ungrateful bastards,_ Ellana thought and sighed. Of course Ferelden wasn't the only one that would happily see the Inquisition disbanded. She'd spent entirely too much time fighting with Solas about just that topic during the long journey here. She'd been fine hearing his opinion on it at first, but as the Exalted Council drew closer he'd become increasingly restless and insistent on it. For whatever reason, Solas really didn't want her to go and his solution had been that she should do Ferelden's job for it by ordering the Inquisition disbanded.

Her chest constricted at the thought that he had so little regard for everything she'd built with the Inquisition. When she questioned him Solas always had the same answer: the Inquisition would become corrupt and he wanted no part of that. Yet that didn't explain his reluctance to take part in the Exalted Council. Shouldn't he be eager for it since one possibility for the Inquisition was that the council might disband it?

They reached the gates of the winter palace. With a metallic clink and the whine of its hinges, the pair of guards standing watch opened the gate to admit Ellana and her retinue to the palace grounds proper. Ellana's horse tossed its head, nickering. The mare likely sensed that soon she'd be munching oats in the palace's luxurious stables. At least someone was excited about arriving.

They rode onto the grounds where more soldiers, both Orlesian and Inquisition, awaited them. A masked herald and several well-dressed servants also stood by, ready to greet Ellana, Cullen, and Josephine. The courtyard was empty, its white pavement and cobblestones pristine. Ellana tried not to think about her roiling stomach as she dismounted, fighting off a wave of vertigo at the change of position.

"Welcome again to the winter palace, Inquisitor Lavellan," the herald called out to her. "Greetings as well to Lady Ambassador Montilyet and Commander Cullen Rutherford."

Ellana stayed with her back to the guards, the servants, and the herald greeting her for several seconds, one hand over her stomach as she fought to find composure. She saw both Cullen and Josephine glance at her with perplexed expressions. Once her head had settled again, Ellana pivoted to face the herald and forced her lips into a smile.

"Thank you," she said. "It's a pleasure to be here once again."

The masked herald gave her a little bow, as did the servants. "Inquisitor, if you'd follow me, I will show you and your advisers to the honored guest wing where rooms have been prepared for you." He motioned toward the servants and ordered them, "Please unsaddle the horses and carry our guests' burdens to their respective rooms."

There were three servants, all of them elven. They bowed again and moved forward obediently, not making eye contact with Ellana or her advisers. Ellana started after the masked herald, willing her legs to be steady after the long horse ride. She heard both Josephine and Cullen following behind her along with a small entourage of Inquisition soldiers.

The herald chatted with them as he led them across the courtyard, telling Ellana that Empress Celene and Briala had prepared a dinner for her and her advisers that evening. The thought of eating made Ellana want to groan. Would the empress and her elven lover take more offense if she didn't eat or wound up vomiting after the first few bites? She'd have to ask Josephine.

The rooms provided to them proved spacious and as sumptuous as Ellana would've expected of Orlais. She had a bed big enough for three Qunari to fit in, with a silken bedspread in navy blue, walls paneled in gold and ivory trim and a bathtub larger than one of Lavellan clan's aravels. Cullen and Josephine's rooms were just down the hallway from her own corner suite. She had barely finished touring the room when a knock came at the door.

"Come in," Ellana called, leaving the enormous privy with its bath as the door opened and one of the elven servants from outside bowed to her.

"Your worship," the elf woman greeted her. In her arms she carried Ellana's saddlebags. "Where would you like these?"

Ellana directed her to place them on the bed and was about to make small talk with the elven servant—she couldn't help but notice the woman didn't have an Orlesian accent—when she heard Josephine's voice from the door. "Inquisitor?"

"Yes?" Ellana called. "Come in, Josie."

"Ah," Josephine said as she stepped into the room, taking in the place. "A lovely room, very good." She surveyed the area for a moment before her eyes fell on Ellana and her lips twisted slightly, her hands wringing together with worry. "Are you all right, Lady Lavellan? You looked quite…" She paused, clearly searching for the proper word. "Faint, earlier. Are you ill?"

Aware of the servant behind her still unloading the saddlebags on the bed, Ellana hesitated before bluffing. "I'm fine, Josie. You worry too much."

Josephine smiled, obviously relieved. "Oh good. I had feared I would have to postpone the dinner scheduled with the empress and the marquise tonight." She chuckled. "It would be a most inauspicious start to the Exalted Council if we were to renege on our first important event."

The servant finished behind her and left the room, her gait drawing Ellana's attention. There was something proud in her step and the set of her shoulders that didn't fit with a servant. Must be one of Briala's spies, Ellana thought. As soon as the servant was gone Ellana confided in Josephine. "I am a little concerned I may have eaten something that didn't agree with me."

"Oh, dear," Josephine said, frowning. "I will have some ginger sent to your room with your tea." She hesitated, one hand on her hip. "Will I have to postpone the dinner?"

"I haven't thrown up on my formalwear yet," Ellana said and laughed at Josephine's horrified expression. "So I think there's hope I'll make it just fine through dinner, especially with ginger in my tea."

"Very well," Josephine said and started for the door. "I will see to it at once. But should your health deteriorate, please let me know as swiftly as possible." She shut the door after herself, leaving Ellana alone for the moment.

Mythal's mercy, she thought and sighed. _Please don't let me humiliate myself in front of everyone tonight._

She strode to the window, the silken curtains currently tied back to allow the most natural light into the room as possible. She unlatched the window and pushed it open, letting a warm breeze flow into the stuffy air of her chamber. Her view was out into the courtyard where already nobles had gathered, dressed in all their finery for the Exalted Council. Servants flitted between groups of chatting nobles, carrying wine or buckets of decoratively shaped ice that'd no doubt been created by a host of mages hired for just such purpose.

Somewhere in that courtyard Ellana knew Solas would be lingering, likely in a busy corridor where he could fade into the background and eavesdrop. He wouldn't be dressed in the same formalwear as he'd worn to the peace negotiations before Corypheus' defeat, which meant he'd be mistaken by virtually everyone as a servant.

She smiled to herself, knowing nothing could be further from the truth. Her Fade expert, regardless of his humble garb and loner nature, had never been subservient. He had the allure and wisdom of a leader, even if he'd never embraced it. She dug at the neckline of her formalwear until she'd managed to touch the stormheart arrowhead she wore beneath it and ignoring the tingle of magic it set off in her fingers. He'd never given her jewelry before. What had motivated him to do it now?

A knock came at her door then and a voice called out, "Tea for you, worship!"

_________________________________________________________________

"You there, rabbit," a man with an Orlesian accent shouted to Solas' left. He turned his head, keeping his expression impassive as he watched an Orlesian noble with a black mustached mask striding toward him. When the man saw he had Solas' attention he held up his slender champagne glass. "We require more refreshments over there on the balcony overlook."

When Solas didn't immediately leap into action, merely continued staring at the Orlesian, the man harrumphed and drew closer with an intimidating swagger. "What are you doing just standing around?" he demanded. "Where is your superior? I demand to—"

"Apologies," Solas said and stood up from his spot leaning on the courtyard wall. "I am not able to help you as I am not a servant in the winter palace. I am a guest of the Exalted Council." He allowed a small smile to twist one corner of his lip as he added, "And a mage." A little intimidation never hurt.

The Orlesian sputtered for a moment and despite the shadows of his mask, Solas didn't miss the man's quick up and down scrutiny, sizing him up. Solas wore robes in gray and green that looked nothing like the usual servant garb worn by the elves at the winter palace. He'd even left on the armband Josephine had provided him to ensure he and many of Ellana's previous inner circle could gain admittance to the palace grounds with little trouble. The armband had the Inquisition's symbol embroidered on it boldly and it was even on Solas' left arm, facing the Orlesian nobleman. Somehow the thickheaded man had still managed to confuse Solas with the servants.

"Oh," the man said, apparently seeing Solas' clothing and the armband at long last. Solas felt sure the man would be blushing with humiliation if his cheeks had been visible. "My apologies…sir." The way he twisted the last word made it clear he couldn't believe or tolerate the fact he had to say something polite to an elf.

Had Solas not been as tense as Ellana's bowstring before she fired an arrow he might've let the man leave without further comment. Instead he let himself chastise the fool. "Perhaps your mask obstructed your view or the heat of the afternoon has clouded your mind, but might I perhaps suggest you think before speaking next time."

The nobleman's lips twisted with a snarl. "Outrageous," he said and turned on his heel, marching away.

A familiar voice spoke up from Solas' right this time, laughing. "I see the last two years haven't made you any jollier, Solas."

Solas didn't restrain the slight smile tugging on his lips now as he saw Dorian approaching him with his usual confident swagger. He arched an eyebrow. "Ah, Dorian. I'm sorry; you're going to have to speak up. Two years later and I still cannot hear you over your outfit."

"That's no excuse. Didn't you know?" Dorian asked, strolling up to within almost arm's length of Solas. He twisted at his mustache as he spoke. "It's Ambassador Pavus now. I'm officially the token Teviner for all of Southern Thedas. Isn't that delightful?"

"I suppose congratulations are in order then. I'm amazed to admit it, but the Imperium finally did something right." He let his smile broaden with a little smug edge to it.

"Yes," Dorian said with a sniff. "But don't say that loud enough for anyone to hear you. My countrymen have quite the reputation at stake what with destroying Arlathan, unleashing the blight on the world, and of course Corypheus and the Venatori." He sighed. "Well, now I've gone and depressed myself."

Changing the subject, Solas cleared his throat. "Were you looking for the Iron Bull?"

"Yes," Dorian said, looking down to his sleeves and tugging on them. "But I already found him and caught up." He flashed Solas a grin. "I'm afraid you can't get rid of me that easily. I actually did stop to chat with you, specifically." He shifted in his spot, surveying Solas for a moment. "Funny how things work out with you and I being the last to leave after Corypheus' defeat. Who would have thought a loner hedge mage and a Tevinter 'spy' would have that kind of devotion?"

Wary, Solas didn't answer right away. He knew Ellana was close friends with Dorian and that had been one of the primary reasons the Tevinter mage hadn't left Skyhold for close to a year after Corypheus' defeat. Eventually he'd been drawn back to Tevinter, though. Ellana missed him a great deal and he had little doubt the two would immediately fall back into their close friendship during the next few weeks as the Exalted Council continued. But now he wondered what Dorian had heard. Had he already spoken with Ellana and listened as she confided some frustration about himself? Was Dorian needling him about his prolonged absence from Skyhold, hinting at disapproval that he and Ellana hadn't made some sort of official commitment to each other, or was it something else entirely?

Did Dorian know the Imperium crawled with Solas' spies? Had he learned of long prized and hidden Elvhen artifacts disappearing? Had he heard of slavers and cruel slave owners being slaughtered—in their dreams—by powerful elven mages?

"Yes," Solas answered with a nod of his head, hoping to convey nonchalance rather than the wary, tight energy he actually felt. "Odd where life takes us."

"How is she?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow. "I assume things are well between you."

"Ellana is well," he answered, restraining the relieved sigh building in his throat. Dorian was just after gossip after all. That was simple enough to handle.

"When is the wedding?" Dorian asked suddenly, a mischievous smile spreading over his lips.

Solas frowned. "Dalish do not marry. Wh—"

Dorian scoffed, interrupting him. "Rubbish, man. You're not Dalish. Is it because she is? Sod it all, you've only been together…what? Three years? Four?" He shook his head and scratched absently at his scalp, ignoring Solas' disapproving scowl.

"The Dalish do not marry," Solas repeated. "They take bond partners. But that's hardly—"

"Oh, so when is the bonding ceremony, then? Because you can't expect me to believe Ellana wouldn't invite me." He laughed as Solas looked away, rolling his eyes. "You cannot tell me you haven't any interest in the matter. It must have come up in the years you've been together."

Maybe gossip wasn't as simple or easy as Solas had expected. Crossing his arms over his chest, he jerked his chin in the direction of the tavern where Iron Bull was drinking. "Since you're so keen on this topic, perhaps you can explain to me why you and Iron Bull are not married."

Dorian burst out laughing, nearly doubling over for a moment as he held his stomach. "Oh, Solas, that was a truly wretched attempt to change the subject." He caught his breath and stared at Solas, grinning. "But surely you can see Bull and I are in a vastly different situation."

"Hardly," Solas said, almost snarling. He wanted to lecture Dorian about his relationship with Iron Bull just to turn the tables on the Tevinter, but he didn't want to encourage the other man to continue thinking along the lines of marriage. That and he preferred not to consider Dorian and the Iron Bull sexually. So he tried honesty instead and said, "I'd rather not discuss it."

"It's a surprise then," Dorian said, a glimmer in his eye as if he'd suddenly grasped a tricky new concept. "Ah, I see."

"Excuse me?" Solas asked, still scowling but less with disapproval and now more confusion. Dorian wasn't just toying with him or seeking out gossip—he'd been put on this conversation somehow. "I must have missed something."

"The dwarf," Dorian explained, his brow furrowing. "Varric. He mentioned something about a proposal involving the Inquisitor in front of me and the Divine Seeker." He sighed and shook his head. "I should have known."

"I should prepare to receive more such questions then," Solas murmured, more to himself than to Dorian.

"Probably," Dorian said, chuckling. "And you should learn to answer them better."

Spotting a familiar servant rounding the corner behind Dorian, Solas dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, eager to make his escape. "If you'll excuse me."

"Right, right," Dorian quipped. "Off you go."

Solas retreated with as much speed as he could while also maintaining some dignity. He was ahead of the servant by a dozen feet or so and made sure to slow his pace as he rounded the corner and headed for an alley behind a little marketplace. He cast a look over his shoulder, very briefly seeking out the servant. She met his eye once and then looked away.

In the alley Solas casually leaned against the wall, covertly searching the area for anyone within earshot as he fished a small parchment scroll from his robes. The servant took her time entering the alley, carrying a tray with a bucket containing decorative ice shapes inside. "Ice, my lord?" she asked.

_"Ar-melana dirthavaren,"_ Solas replied, narrowing his eyes at her.

She nodded. _"Revas vir-anaris."_

Extending the scroll out to her, Solas smiled. "Ma serannas."

She ducked her head as low as she could without dislodging the bucket of ice on her tray. He didn't miss her whispered reply: _"Fen'Harel enansal."_

She walked away, her head high and her gait confident. His brow knit, irritated that despite having infiltrated the winter palace two months ago Lanya still hadn't managed to emulate the other elven servants as well as he'd like. But he knew from personal experience how difficult it was to adjust to this wretched, backwards world they'd woken into. At least uthenera hadn't claimed Lanya's sleek black hair the way it had his.

Not for the first time today he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled to calm the little flutter of panic in his chest. How many times had he told himself he should leave the Inquisition and Ellana? How many times had he sworn to stop being Fen'Harel, falling silent for weeks at a time with his spies, only to return again? Whatever choice he made, Solas endured the hot stab of shame and guilt that tore into him.

He'd balanced two personas since the fall of Corypheus: Solas and the Dread Wolf. They were different elves now, different men. Mortal and god, he thought with a sneer. Mortal Solas wanted to pledge his life to Ellana, to leave the Elvhen in the past and focus on restoring this world at her side, even knowing it'd ultimately fail. But the Dread Wolf had a will of his own and struggled against Solas, as slippery as a slimy fish and just as desperate to survive. The Dread Wolf wouldn't let him be happy. It wouldn't let him forget that he'd destroyed Elvhenan by creating the Veil and he deserved no happiness for such heinous crimes. Certainly he didn't deserve the love of a beautiful spirit like Ellana.

But he'd always been selfish and every time he tried to give her up it failed. The first time, when he'd taken her to Crestwood after visiting the temple of Mythal, he'd planned to reveal everything and accept her hatred as soon as she learned he was the monster who'd destroyed the People and their world. But the thought of her turning away from him hurt too much—it still made him feel as though he couldn't breathe thinking about it even now. So he'd offered a half-truth instead and removed her vallaslin and he'd sworn to give up the Dread Wolf for Ellana. She would never know the truth and he would never have to lose her.

Trouble was the Dread Wolf just wouldn't die. His spies still sought updates. New Elvhen awoke from uthenera and Solas' closest lieutenants always knew where to find and recruit them if they could. Lanya was just one such Elvhen recruit, but Solas had dozens of others—Elvhen who he'd known before the long sleep and even before the Veil. Most of the newer recruits and elves born in this world didn't know who he was on sight, though he'd met all of them in the Fade through their dreams to take their reports and test their mettle. But in dreams he always came as the wolf, an enormous black beast with a multitude of glowing red eyes. It was the monster that haunted the Dalish elves' legends.

Like a lyrium addict, Solas just couldn't give up control of it. He couldn't stop playing the Game.

And now he had to deal with this accursed Exalted Council and it was already such a mess. The three months he'd been away from Skyhold and Ellana had been spent sabotaging the Qunari who'd infiltrated the eluvians and sections of the Crossroads. As much as he hated the Qunari, he had to grudgingly admit they were thorough in their tenacity to understand and conquer the ancient Elvhen artifacts they'd acquired, putting their discoveries to malicious use so fast it'd stunned even him. They had spies in the palace, brushing shoulders with his own. They'd infiltrated the Inquisition as well, despite his covert efforts to root them out.

Fenedhis, he'd seen battlefields that were easier to manage than this.

And in the thick of it was Ellana, his vhenan, with no idea the Qunari had painted a huge red target on her back using her own Inquisition. He wasn't sure yet how to stop them and save her without showing his hand in it all. He'd hoped she would disband the Inquisition or refuse to attend the Exalted Council, but of course he wasn't that lucky.

He sensed a presence nearby and lifted his head, opening his eyes to find Cole now standing against the hall opposite him. "The path forks," the spirit boy said. "One dry, brittle, crumbling. The other dark, overgrown, ugly. The wolf stops, torn, twisted, aching, but time flows on…"

"Hello Cole," Solas greeted him with a warm smile. "Have you helped many people here today?"

"A few," Cole replied, not making eye contact under the broad brim of his hat. "Most are fuzzy here, distracted and…empty."

"That would be the nobility," Solas said, still smiling. He knew how to keep parts of himself shielded from the spirit to reduce what Cole might read from him but doing so took considerable mental effort. It was one of the reasons he'd been avoiding Cole over the last year. Before Corypheus' defeat Solas hadn't been as active in his own spy network, making it easier to hide that aspect of himself. Now the challenges of being Fen'Harel were frequently at the forefront of his thoughts and worries, making them easier for Cole to access. Fortunately Cole's oblique way of expressing things made most people ignore what he had to say.

"I saw Varric," Cole announced, slipping into a more lucid moment. "He still calls me kid." The spirit boy grinned, innocent and sweet as the sentiment he represented: Compassion.

"It would seem the years have not changed him," Solas said, chuckling.

"Yes," Cole said and his eyes fixed on Solas then, seeing him in a way that made Solas' skin prickle and his muscles tense. "Things changing, water pulling in every direction, can't breathe, can't swim, can't let go…drowning."

That would be Solas' fear of losing control over the giant mess that was the Exalted Council. He sighed, closing his eyes. "Please, Cole." He raked his mind, searching for something to distract the spirit with, to redirect his purpose and coming up empty to his shame. His mind brimmed with other concerns: arranging meet ups with his spies, managing his people in the Crossroads, rooting out Qunari operatives in both the Inquisition and the palace's servant staff, and still doing a passable job of being Solas, Inquisitor Lavellan's lover and Fade expert.

Not to mention he had to find a moment to sleep in all of that to make contact via dreams with his agents in Tevinter…

Cole cocked his head to one side, his eyes losing their focus. "They were dead all along. There was no island." Then suddenly he gasped, eyes widening. "Sorrow comes…"

Solas frowned, making a connection out of Cole's last comment, and at that moment he heard the quick tread of steps on the pavement. He recognized Lanya as she rounded the corner, her expression tight and her movements quick and tense. Her blue eyes flicked once to Cole and then she turned away, disregarding the spirit. Like Solas, she knew who Cole was and that he presented no threat.

"Hahren," she said, her words curt but respectful. "A message." She pulled out a small scroll from inside the vest she wore as part of her server's uniform.

Solas took it quickly with a nod and Lanya walked away, returning to her work as a servant rather than an agent of the Dread Wolf. She knew where he'd leave a message for her if he needed to make a reply. They couldn't afford to cross paths and exchange words too often—someone was bound to notice if they did. The last thing Solas needed was for Dorian or Sera or Varric or Cassandra to see him lingering with another elf and report it to Ellana as gossip. With no one but Cole in earshot or watching, Solas read the scroll, finding it in written elven, all but indecipherable to most modern elves and humans alike. Along with the text the writer had drawn a detailed image of rounded barrels that Solas recognized only too well.

_Danger increases at the Crossroads. The pack cannot contain it without its leader. The Dragon's Breath must be stopped. Its fire has spread in secret and shadow, through mirrors without reflection, all across the south. Halamshiral as well. The Dragon will unleash its fury very soon. Will the Wolf stand against the Dragon in the coming week?_ –Abelas

Rerolling the scroll and tucking it away, Solas left the alley with merely a nod in Cole's direction, knowing the spirit wouldn't begrudge him the sudden departure. Abelas was his lieutenant in the Crossroads, fighting the Qunari scourge there with guerilla attacks in Solas' stead. He'd hoped for good news from Abelas but expected bad and of course this scroll met those expectations. Abelas hadn't been able to disrupt the Qunari plans or reclaim the network of eluvians Solas' people had lost. And now Dragon's Breath had moved on Halamshiral and the Exalted Council, just as he'd feared.

The Dread Wolf had found him again, closing its jaws on his throat, but this threat endangered Ellana as well. Solas and alter ego alike had to act immediately.

Marching past the little tavern where Sera was laughing and Iron Bull drinking, Solas made his way into the courtyard with the fountain at the foot of the winter palace's grand staircase. Varric stood near the fountain, speaking with a human. The dwarf's back was to him so Solas didn't hesitate as he hurried past. If Varric noticed him he didn't call out.

Guards blocked the entrance to the palace, their eyes narrowing at him as he approached. "State your business," one ordered him when he didn't veer away to the right or left staircase and upper balconies.

"My name is Solas. I'm with the Inquisition," Solas reassured them, offering a humble little smile. He twisted slightly, letting them see the armband. "Inquisitor Lavellan summoned me." The lie flew so easily off his tongue even he could believe it, but he hoped these guards wouldn't question him or send a servant in to find Ellana and confirm his story with her.

The glint of amusement in the guard's eye and the curl of his lips into a leering smile told Solas the man had heard his name before and knew of the rumors about himself and Ellana. The guard grunted and gestured at his partner. "Let him in."

The other guard did as he'd been ordered and Solas thanked them politely before heading inside. He made an effort to keep his gait relaxed and his pace unhurried though his skin was prickling and his body flushed with heat. He knew where the palace kept its eluvian locked away and he knew how to activate it. In only a few minutes he would be in the Crossroads himself. He would answer Abelas' question personally.

Unfortunately he expected he'd miss Ellana whenever she emerged to speak with their old friends. She'd be upset, of course, and he'd have to come up with a good excuse for the absence, but he'd worry about that later.

_____________________________________________

Author Note: Still getting used to AO3. I have end notes on my chapters for translations and such. I haven't figured out how to italicize the text either, unless I have to just go through highlighting everything and using the HTML code, which would be a pain since I use italics a lot. Anyway, live and learn. Notes from original posting follow. 

My notes from original post  
Elven Words/Phrases:

Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris: Fen'Harel's secret greeting. Translation unknown, but "Ar" is a personal pronoun, I. Melana is time. Dirthavaren seems to refer to "the promise" of the Dales, but that could be a modern meaning. Deconstructing it down "Dirth" has to do with knowledge, "var" is our and "en" could be the suffix for plurality so "ours." Revas is freedom, vir is path or way. As for anaris, I have no idea but in "bellanaris" meaning eternity we know "bel" is many so "anaris" would have to refer to the time part possibly? Unless it actually references the Forgotten One by that name? So: I/me time our(plural) promise/knowledge. Freedom path/way (forever?) Maybe something like I Promise Everyone the Path of Everlasting Freedom? Except it's two sentences so I'm stumped. I Promise my Time? The Freedom path [something possibly to do with time]. Yeah, I give up.

Ma serannas: Thank you

Fen'Harel enansal: Dread Wolf's blessing

Next Chapter teaser:

"Don't you feel better, my dear?" Vivienne asked as she sat up and surveyed Ellana, only to answer her own question. "Oh dear, you look dreadful. Are you all right?"

"It's passing," Ellana said, swallowing with an effort and sucking in several deep breaths.

"What ever is the matter?" Vivienne asked with a cluck of her tongue. "Usually this place works miracles."

"I've been feeling…off most of the day," Ellana admitted, wiping again at the slime left by the cheese. "The smell of the cheese is what's bothering me. And the horses earlier."


	3. It's Spa Day, Darling!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana catches up with old friends and realizes she's pregnant. Solas leaves to check out the Qunari problem. Worst. Timing. Ever.

The sun remained high enough by the time Ellana finished the dinner with Celene and Briala that it could still be considered afternoon. The so-called "dinner" had been more of a late lunch and mercifully short. Josephine's suggestion about ginger in her tea had worked wonderfully on Ellana's stomach right up until she smelled some of the more potent main courses that included seafood delicacies. Yet, luckily, Ellana had managed to keep her composure.

Now she found herself wandering the palace grounds, searching for Cassandra—Divine Victoria as most everyone insisted on calling her, even in private. The scent of alcohol from the tavern made her now full stomach clench at the stink of it so she marched right by it despite catching Iron Bull's eye and seeing Sera inside as she passed. Mother Giselle had told her she could find Cassandra on the balcony overlooking the countryside and Ellana found the former Seeker there as promised, but as she called out to her in greeting Cassandra flinched.

"Is everything all right?" Ellana asked as she took in Cassandra's enormous hat and Chantry robes with a smirk of amusement. Caasandra had told her once that she despised hats and looked terrible in them—but Ellana suspected everyone looked terrible in that hat.

Cassandra blinked a few times, still appearing stricken. "Yes, well. I…wanted to speak with you. And now you're here." She strode closer, her brusque motion still looking better suited to armor than robes.

A weight pressed on Ellana's shoulders. Whatever Cassandra wanted to talk about, it couldn't be good. "This seems serious."

"It's not about me," Cassandra went on. "It's about you." She fell silent, staring and blinking at Ellana. "Maybe you should sit."

 _What is this about?_ Ellana wondered. "I can stand," she told Cassandra, trying not to reveal how perturbed she felt seeing the warrior so shaken.

"Maybe I should sit," Cassandra said and looked toward the short stairs leading down to the overlook. She walked to them and sat, her back ramrod straight and shoulders squared as she stared straight ahead. Almost reluctant, Ellana followed and took a seat beside her, careful not to step on her white robe.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra began, finally launching into whatever dark topic clearly bothered her so much. "I want you to know that I am your friend. I will always be your friend."

_Mythal have mercy, where is she going with this?_

Ellana spoke up quickly, hoping to ease the strange tension in the air. "Oh, well, that's—"

"So I hope to give you sound advice on this momentous day," Cassandra said, interrupting Ellana. The expression on her face had changed from the tense awkwardness of before to something almost…tender? "Do what is in your heart, my friend. No matter what anyone might tell you," she finished with a small smile on her lips.

"That's…a lovely sentiment, Cassandra," Ellana said and meant it, but her head felt thick with confusion. Why would this work Cassandra up so much? Had she perhaps gotten wind of Solas' strong opinions about disbanding the Inquisition?

Now Cassandra turned her head slightly, staring off at a nearby point on the concrete as she launched into what Ellana could tell by her tone was a sort of soft reprimand. "Marriage is much more than a 'lovely sentiment,' Inquisitor."

"Marriage?" Ellana asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Cassandra said, her tone one of exasperation now. "Maker knows it's been a long time coming, but Solas has been…" As understanding dawned Ellana quickly turned her head away, but not before her expression must have revealed the truth to the other woman. "You're not proposing," she realized aloud. "To anyone."

Cassandra stood up, as fast if she'd been stung by a bee. Her hands clenching into fists. "I am going to kill Varric," Cassandra promised. "Why do I believe everything he says? Why?"

"Might I interject something?" a familiar voice asked from behind Ellana on the stairs and she twisted to look over her shoulder as Dorian stepped onto the balcony overlook.

"Dorian," Ellana said, grinning with joy at the sight of her friend—and glad for the distraction from this difficult conversation. She got to her feet, ignoring the little wave of dizziness that swept through her at the action. "Or should I say Ambassador Pavus?"

He smiled at her, full of warmth. "Just Dorian for you, old girl."

"What do you want, Tevinter?" Cassandra asked with a scowl, still angry that Varric had tricked her.

"Your Holiness," he said, addressing Cassandra and striding toward her with his arms opened to her as if he would embrace her but she made no move to reciprocate and he dropped the stance to motion at Ellana. "I think you're missing an excellent opportunity. Rather than direct your divine wrath at Master Tethras, you and I should combine efforts in an unprecedented union of the Imperium and the Chantry to apply political pressure on our darling Fade expert."

"What?" Ellana asked, making a face. "There's really no need…"

"I already took the liberty of questioning Solas a few hours ago," Dorian added with a mischievous grin aimed at Ellana. "I gathered from his reaction nothing was actually planned. But that doesn't mean we can't set things in motion."

Ellana bit the inside of her cheek and averted her eyes, a wave of heat passing through her at this topic. As much as she'd love to have Solas come forward with a promise of a deeper commitment, the last thing she wanted was for Dorian to embarrass or pressure Solas on her behalf. He was private and reserved and she'd learned to respect his boundaries, which included few public displays of his affection and no gossip. She didn't think he ever sought out advice and he certainly wasn't one to boast.

"Dorian," she began, her tone hesitant. "I'm not sure that's—"

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows leaping into his forehead and his mouth falling open. "You mean to tell me you don't want him to make an honest elf out of you?"

Cassandra made a disapproving noise in her throat and started to speak over Dorian, her expression firm and yet also sympathetic. "If you do not wish to discuss it, Inquisitor, then we will respect your wishes. Isn't that right, Dorian?"

"Naturally," he agreed smoothly, barely sparing a glance in Cassandra's direction before focusing again on Ellana, a knowing look in his eyes. "But really, you wouldn't have believed the way Solas squirmed. That's not the reaction of a man who hasn't given thought to it."

"Solas gives thought to everything," Ellana pointed out, refusing to acknowledge the way her heart picked up at the mere suggestion. The stormheart arrowhead felt suddenly warm against her skin as she remembered wondering why he'd decided to give her such a gift. In her clan betrothal gifts were common, but they were usually something practical—a bow, a staff, a blade, or new cookware. But Ellana had everything she could want when it came to practicality, so what would be appropriate for the Inquisitor?

The answer resounded inside her head, loud and clear and making her cheeks suddenly flush with warmth. He'd give her something defensive or protective, of course, to help her in battle because she wasn't a hunter of the People anymore.

"Yes, he told me the Dalish don't marry," Dorian said with a smirk. "I swear that elf knows everything. Or thinks he does."

"The Dalish do not marry?" Cassandra repeated, her face open and slack with surprise. "How can that be?"

"We take bond partners," Ellana explained with a shrug. "And swear oaths to Sylaise."

"Who?" Cassandra asked, shaking her head, still hopelessly confused.

Ellana's shoulders slumped. "Never mind." She faced Dorian again. "The point is I'd prefer you both not discuss this with him." She pinched her lips together, refusing to say more despite the anxious knot in her chest as her thoughts on the arrowhead continued to swell in her mind. If Solas had meant it to be a betrothal gift he'd have said as much. The arrowhead had been his way of apologizing for being away for so long, that was all.

Well, that and the sleepless night of lovemaking.

"Ah, but you _want_ to discuss it," Dorian said with a chuckle and an arched eyebrow. "The look on your face, old girl…"

Before she could stop herself she snorted, laughing a moment before cutting herself off and squaring her shoulders. "Enough, Dorian. I'm serious. I have enough to worry about with the Exalted Council. I don't need you meddling in my relationship."

Dorian clucked his tongue with disappointment. "All right then, have it your way."

"Where is Solas?" she asked, quickly glancing around as if worried he might wander into the awkward conversation.

"I haven't seen him," Cassandra said with an apologetic look.

"I have, obviously," Dorian said and motioned in the direction of the courtyard. "He was over there, being mistaken for one of the hired help. After that I saw him marching for the palace, off to lecture with politicians and Chantry sisters about the true nature of spirits, demons, and the Fade I assumed."

Cassandra chuckled. "He would do that—and I would have to play mother hen later when they came to me for reassurance." She looked to Ellana. "Perhaps you should find him."

"Yes," Dorian added, laughing. "And keep him suitably occupied." He winked at her.

"I will…see what I can do," Ellana said, clearing her throat and fighting the blush stealing over her cheeks. For Cassandra she said, "I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble, Divine Victoria."

"For you it is no trouble, Inquisitor," Cassandra reassured her with a nod. Somehow the ridiculous hat of the Divine didn't come toppling off her head. She smiled, managing to look serene despite the mean scar on her jaw and the militant set of her shoulders.

Dorian sighed. "I suppose I should go mingle with the other ambassadors."

__________________________________________________________

The light in the Crossroads had a splintered look, glinting rose and green and gray against Solas' eyes as he stared across the distance between the floating islands. He'd emerged through a previously dark eluvian onto an island of rough gray-black stone. A waterfall splattered the rock ahead and far beyond he saw Qunari warriors charging over a rock bridge that should have been magically-masked. He knew where they were headed: the eluvian leading to the Deep Roads where their lyrium mine waited.

Well, it was their lyrium mine now. Like every other race in Thedas, the Qunari were growing increasingly adept at claiming Elvhen possessions and repurposing them. He felt an old, simmering rage heating his blood.

Because the Crossroads was a construct, neither Fade nor waking world, Solas didn't need to use the bridges linking the islands. Gravity still worked here, to an extent, but magic users could bend such rules or even appear to break them completely. He'd hoped to use this against the Qunari by deliberately leaving most of the bridges between the islands masked. Unfortunately the Qunari mages, called saarebas in Qunlat, had surprised him with how quickly they learned how to discharge the magic stored in the orbs along the islands, unmasking the bridges so their forces could cross at will. They'd even learned how to make a few bridges stay on permanently.

At least the saarebas still didn't understand they might be able to bypass the bridges entirely the same way the agents of Fen'Harel did using Fade step.

All of the people he'd stationed in the Crossroads were Elvhen mages with enough strength and skill that they could Fade step over the gaps between the islands. It wasn't flying or teleporting, but to the Qunari it'd look suitably intimidating and impossible—a nice perk for him and all of his people.

In a blur Solas flitted from the island with the eluvian connecting to Halamshiral and onto the path leading to the Deep Roads. He burst out of it in the middle of their group and immediately blasted them with a veilstrike. Three of the warriors fell off into the void, their cries thin and pathetic. The saarebas wheeled to face Solas along with one other surviving warrior who managed not to fall over the side.

Solas cast a barrier, shielding himself from the fireball the saarebas sent hurtling at him. Then he summoned Fade stone, creating a fist of it on his staff and flinging it at the saarebas. The Qunari mage ducked and yelped, falling over the edge.

The remaining warrior roared and charged at Solas, his spear held high. Calling another veilstrike, Solas simply swept him aside without even a grunt of effort. The warrior cursed and cried out as he fell, but the sounds died away quickly, leaving nothing but the ongoing hiss of water from the islands nearby. And, of course, the unending song of the Crossroads.

Rubbing his face with one hand, Solas walked back toward the island opposite the one with the Deep Roads eluvian. As soon as he stood on the solid stone, staring down at his feet in deep thought, he sighed. How many times had he come through here and intercepted them? How many times had he masked this bridge, hoping to trap them in the Deep Roads? How many times had he chased them into the Deep Roads to cut them down there, too?

The Qunari had numbers and time on their side and they weren't stupid, as much as he wished they were. He'd lost two of Abelas' sentinels over the three months he'd been fighting their incursion into the Crossroads. That was far, far too many. Every Elvhen agent was precious, each one a holdover from uthenera like himself and the only ones who recalled the way the world should be.

With a wave of one arm, his fingers glowing green, he recalled the stone bridge. It groaned, detaching from the island with the Deep Roads eluvian and slowly disappearing. Another saarebas would just reinstate the bridge eventually, but at least this would hinder them a little.

He turned to the eluvian behind him. This one led to a picturesque valley with a lake and several large watchtowers. In the time of Elvhenan Solas had called it Revasan, the place where freedom dwells. He knew the valley now was robed in green splendor, wild and unmarked by humans or elves except for the ruined watchtowers. It was barely a memory of the sanctuary it'd been, where once the People had flourished, living much like the Dalish off the land. They'd spat on the names and markings of the Evanuris and exalted the Dread Wolf for freeing them. They'd flocked to him, their faces bare and proud, and pleaded to fight for him.

In those days he'd had an army so massive it'd have been more than enough to topple any of the current human nations. But that was the past—a different world and a different life. Now Solas had returned to even more distant roots as spymaster and networker.

He glanced to the island where the Halamshiral eluvian waited, still active. There was no bridge to it currently; in fact there wasn't even an orb to store magic for the bridge. That would ensure no one could get to the now active Halamshiral eluvian. He'd found one of his spies within the palace—one who knew him just as Solas rather than Fen'Harel—to unlock the door to the room where Briala had stored the eluvian. That same spy had then locked the door again behind him. As far as anyone other than that particular spy was concerned, Solas would've just vanished from Halamshiral.

Had Ellana noticed his absence yet?

Shrugging off the thought, Solas pivoted to face the eluvian leading to Revasan, the elven ruins in the valley where Solas had become Fen'Harel and his legend had grown into a god. He strode for the mirror and stepped through.

____________________________________________________________

After bidding Cassandra and Dorian goodbye, Ellana walked past the tavern again, searching for any sign of Solas but finding none. In the courtyard she encountered Varric and stopped to speak with him—receiving the surprising news that the dwarf had become viscount of Kirkwall and that he'd reserved her a title and an estate there. Along with a key to the city that apparently controlled a chain in the harbor, according to Varric's flustered and flabbergasted adviser.

After he'd finished lavishing her with gifts that stunned both her and his adviser, Ellana asked, "Have you seen Solas?"

"Chuckles?" the dwarf asked. "Yeah, he came storming through here about an hour ago and headed up the stairs." He hesitated a moment, giving her a curious look. "I assumed you sent for him or something."

Solas was the only one of her inner circle who hadn't technically left the Inquisition, meaning Ellana _could_ have summoned him. But of course she hadn't. Why would Solas rush into the palace? Her stomach suddenly felt as if she'd swallowed lead and her face must've revealed her worry as Varric asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," she said with a little shake of her head and then deftly changed the subject. "So, how is your next chapter of Swords and Shields coming along? I'm sure Divine Victoria is waiting with barely concealed excitement."

Varric laughed, loud and hard. When he'd recovered he checked over his shoulder, as if to be sure the aforementioned woman wasn't about to come barreling into the courtyard demanding the book. "I suspect if I don't finish it soon she'll announce an Exalted March on Kirkwall." He froze a second later, suddenly awkward. "Uh, sorry. That was insensitive of me."

 _Exalted Marches,_ Ellana thought and restrained a sigh. The last one destroyed the Dales, scattering her people and breaking the promise of an elven homeland. She pushed the thought aside and shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Varric."

"Well," he said, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. "There's always a place for you in Kirkwall, Lady Lavellan. I'd even welcome Chuckles as your Comte."

She smirked. "About that rumor you started with Cassandra and Dorian…"

Varric grinned, trying and failing to appear innocent. "What rumor?" She shot him a mock glare, hands on her hips and immediately the dwarf capitulated. He raised his palms up toward her, as if ready to ward off a blow or hold back her reprimand. "Let's be fair. I didn't say much. It's hardly my fault if Her Holiness and Sparkles misunderstood me. Besides, what's so exalted about this summit if it doesn't involve a long-awaited proposal of marriage?"

She tried not to smile but couldn't hold it back as she shook her head. "It was great catching up with you, Varric."

"Likewise," Varric said with a little bow as flourish. As Ellana walked away, heading for the stairs and the palace, she saw Varric's advisor rush forward again to resume nagging him.

At the palace entrance she was about to question the guards standing watch when Vivienne called out to her. "Darling, there you are! You made it!"

Despite herself, Ellana hesitated and turned to greet the Enchanter, vaguely remembering Josephine mentioning that Vivienne had asked to meet her. "Hello, Vivienne."

"I scheduled this appointment ages ago, and they do appreciate punctuality," Vivienne went on, reaching to gently grasp Ellana's arm and turn her away from the palace and back to the stairs.

"Appointment?" Ellana asked, letting herself be led down the stairs. She cast a last glance over her shoulder at the entrance to the palace and resigned herself to whatever the Enchanter had in mind. Solas was around here somewhere. She'd find him eventually.

"With the Imperial Garden Spa, of course," she said with a smile, her voice silken as always. "You work so hard, my dear. I wanted to treat you."

They walked across the courtyard, heading past the fountain and toward the pavilion that Ellana was just beginning to realize must actually be a spa. Vivienne led her to a pair of broad white couches and reclined on one. Without much choice, Ellana sat opposite her and decided to be polite. Weren't spas supposed to be relaxing? She could use something to unwind the knot of tension in her back and stomach. "That sounds like a fantastic idea."

"Of course it is, darling. That's the only kind I have," Vivienne replied, still smiling smugly.

 _Right,_ Ellana thought, somehow managing to keep her smile from falling. Attendants appeared as if on cue, offering a skimpy undergarment that did make Ellana frown. "What is this?"

"You don't want to get your formalwear wet in the spa, did you?" Vivienne asked as she accepted her own skimpy undergarment. "I'll go first if you like." She rose from her couch and retreated to a small dressing room.

Alone except for the silent, waiting attendants, Ellana rubbed her thumbs over the satiny fabric of the underclothes and sighed. Maybe this wasn't such a good thing after all. She'd been feeling wretched over the last few days and especially that morning before the ginger had settled her stomach. The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the archways of the spa and the sound of the water was beautiful and musical. The scent of the flowers made her close her eyes, remembering her life in the wilds of the Free Marches and the headiness of summers there. She hadn't had many moments to miss it this much as Inquisitor, but now…

If she did disband the Inquisition, she could retire from leading it and return to her clan. Did she want that? Would they even take her back? Or perhaps she could settle in at Kirkwall, as Varric suggested?

All too soon Vivienne reappeared and it was Ellana's turn to squeeze into the embarrassingly skimpy underclothes. She kept tugging at the hem at both the top and around her legs, unable to hide her self-consciousness as attendants appeared again. As Vivienne reclined on her couch and leaned her head back, accepting the two tiny cheese wheels her attendant placed over her eyes, she said, "You look pale, my dear. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Ellana sat on her own couch and mimicked Vivienne's posture, reclining and leaning her head back. Her attendant stepped forward and placed a white cheese wheel over each eye. The scent was pungent, immediately making Ellana's volatile stomach churn. She swallowed the bile back, willing herself to find this as relaxing as Vivienne apparently did. "What are the cheese wheels for?"

"It pains me that you even have to ask. You've clearly been living too long in barely civilized conditions," Vivienne replied, neatly avoiding answering the question.

An attendant began massaging Ellana's shoulders, his hands strong and dexterous. She grimaced out of embarrassment as she immediately thought of Solas. She blushed to her ears as her attendant went to work on her neck then before eventually transitioning to her arms. Slowly, despite the nauseating smell of the cheese, Ellana began to relax—until she heard the distant echoing of feminine laughter and the patter of bare feet.

"Did you hear something?" she asked Vivienne.

"Relax, darling," Vivienne scolded her. "It's spa day."

Ellana let the attendant's hands work their magic again for a few moments, gradually relaxing as much as she could in her semi-nudeness and the strangeness of the cheese wheels both blinding her and making her queasy. When the attendants left them to relax, Ellana toyed with the stormheart arrowhead at her neck, which she hadn't removed when she put on the skimpy underclothes.

"How have you been?" Vivienne asked into the gentle stillness of the spas. "It seems ages since we've spoken. How are things with our dear Solas?"

Ellana barely managed to keep herself from snorting at the Enchanter's description. _Our dear Solas?_

"Are you digging for gossip, Vivienne?" she asked. "Trying to get me to give up the juicy details?"

"Merely expressing concern for your well-being, my dear. Someone ought to."

Ellana rolled her eyes beneath the ridiculous cheese wheels. Was Vivienne really going to start lecturing her on the dangers of apostate mages? When was she going to stop thinking Solas was about to be possessed by demons or take up a hobby destroying villages with reckless abandon?

She changed the subject. "Do you come to this spa often?"

"As often as I can," Vivienne said. "Sadly, no more than twice a year at best. Duty first."

The gentle thump of their attendants' footsteps came then and, mercifully, one of them lifted the cheese wheels from Ellana's eyes. She sat up, wiping at the slime left by the sweating cheese with a disgusted sneer. The combination of sitting upright and the lingering stink of the cheese made the room spin and bile rise into her throat.

"Don't you feel better, my dear?" Vivienne asked as she sat up and surveyed Ellana, only to answer her own question. "Oh dear, you look dreadful. Are you all right?"

"It's passing," Ellana said, swallowing with an effort and sucking in several deep breaths.

"What ever is the matter?" Vivienne asked with a cluck of her tongue. "Usually this place works miracles."

"I've been feeling…off most of the day," Ellana admitted, wiping again at the slime left by the cheese. "The smell of the cheese is what's bothering me. And the horses earlier."

"Hmm," Vivienne said, the noise of interest in her throat drawing Ellana's gaze now that she was more confident she wasn't about to vomit all over the white couch or the spa floor. The Enchanter's sculpted face had a pinched expression and narrowed eyes as she scrutinized Ellana.

"What is it?" Ellana asked, unable to keep herself from frowning warily at Vivienne's abrupt change in demeanor.

"Suffering from a heightened sense of smell, my dear?" Vivienne asked, arching an eyebrow.

"More like I ate something that didn't agree with me," Ellana said and rose to her feet, ready to be done with this spa and with Vivienne's nosiness. Looking toward the baths, Ellana's jaw dropped. Hams had been scattered about on the floor. "What…happened?" Had this been some sort of trick by Vivienne? But that hardly made sense…

"Darling. It's spa day. Don't fret. You'll undo all the good work they've done." If Vivienne noticed the hams she did a wonderful job of pretending otherwise. "Come along and let's get changed, darling. I'll let you go first."

After donning her formalwear again and bidding Vivienne goodbye, Ellana exited the baths only to spot Sera standing outside, grinning at her. "Here's you," she said in greeting and then gestured at the courtyard with a sweep of her hands. "And everyone! Glad to be back, all stuffed together. With the pressure full on. Again."

 _Elgar'nan's breath,_ Ellana thought, already grinning as she pieced together the mystery of the hams in the bath. Of course it'd been Sera. At least Sera wasn't meeting up with her in the tavern, the smell of which had repulsed Ellana every time she walked by it. "Hello Sera," she said. "It's good to see you made it."

"Don't worry, 'Herald of Everywhere,'" Sera said, grinning. "I came prepared. I know what everyone needs."

"Let me guess," Ellana said, raising a hand, finger pointed upward. "Pies. Crème pies in their faces. Especially the pompous nobility."

Sera smirked as she nodded. "Just like best times. Wanna come with?"

Ellana nodded. "Of course, but can we postpone this until tonight?" She edged closer, lowering her voice. "I'd like to pie the Ferelden Ambassador specifically and I'd prefer to do it under cover of darkness. I can't risk him recognizing me."

Sera giggled. "Oh, he won't if I dress you. Should get you out of that shite you're wearing now, anyway. Make you look a proper Jenny."

Ellana grinned. "Sounds like a plan, then. I'll meet you outside the tavern an hour after sunset."

"Frigging yes," Sera said, laughing. "Can't wait."

With mischief scheduled now, Ellana tried for the second time to investigate the palace gate. While she'd been in the spa with Vivienne she'd apparently missed a changing of the guards as the two men standing watch now were different men from the two she'd seen before. Ellana questioned them about whether they'd seen or heard anything about an elven mage—bald, barefaced, and wearing an Inquisition armband—passing through the gates. The two men stared at her, blank and baffled.

That meant Solas had left the palace before the before the change of the guard…or he was still in the winter palace somewhere. Why would he be in the palace in the first place?

Returning to the courtyard, Ellana checked in with Cullen and Leliana, keeping an eye out for Solas as she went and finding nothing. She headed to the upper balconies to find Josephine next, unwilling to go by the tavern again where the acrid stink of alcohol would be waiting. She finally found the ambassador in the dark corner under the archways of the awning engaged in whispered conversation with Vivienne. She waited a short distance away from them to be polite but when Josephine glanced past the Enchanter she seemed to flinch, blinking and interrupting Vivienne with a subtle gesture of one hand.

The Enchanter turned and her eyes widened slightly. "Inquisitor," she said and strode out from the shade of the awning. Josephine followed her, taking small, dainty steps and wearing an unreadable expression on her face as she stared at Ellana.

"Madam Vivienne," Ellana said with a nod. "Good to see you again."

"How are you feeling, darling?" Vivienne asked, her voice deep with her usual theatrical flourish. Her lips twisted downward in a frown that may or may not have been genuinely sympathetic. Ellana could never be sure.

"Well," she said. "And you?"

"Splendid, my dear," Vivienne replied with a little nod. "Now, I won't take up any more of Lady Montilyet's time." She glanced back at Josephine and said, "So good catching up with you."

"And you, Enchanter," Josephine said, but her eyes had a sort of dazed quality and her smile seemed less charming than usual.

"Now, if you'll both excuse me, I simply must speak with the Divine. Good evening, Inquisitor. Lady Montilyet." She gave a little exaggerated dip of her head to excuse herself and stepped daintily toward the staircase.

Ellana watched her go with a small frown as Josephine walked almost gingerly to stand beside her. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"Um." Josephine stopped and cleared her throat and a moment later Ellana felt the other woman's hand grip her bicep and steer her toward the shade of the awning. Ellana let Josephine lead her for a moment before gently but firmly pulling her arm from the ambassador's grasp.

"What's gotten into you, Josephine?" she asked, shaking her head in consternation.

The ambassador scanned the other nobility on the balcony, gaging their distance and how private the conversation would be. Ellana followed her gaze with a sigh, shoulders slumping as she anticipated she was about to learn something unpleasant.

"The Enchanter, like all ladies at court, is…" Josephine wrinkled up her nose for a moment as if she had to sneeze. "…most astute at ferreting out scandal and gossip."

Frowning, Ellana pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is this about the rumor Varric started again? About the marriage proposal?"

"What?" Josephine asked, almost blurting the word.

Ellana quickly explained what'd happened earlier in the day until Josephine laughed quietly. "Varric is the consummate troublemaker." She shook her head, grinning for a moment with Ellana before her expression sobered again and she cleared her throat. "I wish the Enchanter had approached me with that particular rumor, but unfortunately…"

"What is it, Josephine?" Ellana asked. She caught the ambassador checking the balcony for eavesdroppers again and tried to ignore the tightening knot of anxiety in her chest. "It isn't about Solas, is it?" she asked.

Josephine shot her a look that was both confused and wary, making Ellana's heart sink. "Not…directly," she answered and cleared her throat, lowering her voice into a near whisper. "I apologize for prying, Inquisitor, but I must ask after your health."

"My health?" Ellana parroted, eyebrows rising to emphasize the question.

"Yes," Josephine said, her voice hesitant. She licked her lips and shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "Madame Vivienne mentioned you nearly…" She stopped, pinching her lips together. "Perhaps you do not realize this, Lady Lavellan, but in a place such as Halamshiral the court thrives on rumor and scandal for entertainment. It's a vital part of the Game and while you are here for the Exalted Council you will be—sadly—unable to escape it."

"I'm aware of this," Ellana murmured, frowning. "What's your point, Josephine?"

"Forgive me," Josephine said and even in the shadow the blush stealing over her cheeks was impossible to miss. "I will be blunt. The Exalted Council could last for weeks. If your illness is more than just temporary and instead caused by a certain...feminine condition...it will be impossible to prevent gossip. My hope was to take preventative action if you are—that is, if the Enchanter's suspicions prove correct."

Ellana stared at Josephine, mute as thoughts began to connect inside her mind, snapping into place to form a larger picture. Vivienne asking about her illness in the spa, specifically calling it heightened sense of smell. The nausea that kept plaguing her. The memory of the many nights she'd spent with Solas since he'd returned to Skyhold and agreed to join her at the Exalted Council. And the sudden realization that she'd lost track of time.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. _I should've bled weeks ago._

"Inquisitor?" Josephine asked, her brow knitting with concern. "Are you all right?"

"I…" She shook her head, feeling shaky body wide. She drew in a deep breath and let it out again. "What was it that Vivienne suspected?" she asked, her voice thin.

"That perhaps there will soon be another member of clan Lavellan," Josephine whispered, her voice tight but her lips and eyes warm and lighthearted. At least Josephine wasn't going to judge her negatively for this it seemed.

"It's possible," Ellana admitted, turning her head and averting her eyes. Her cheeks felt as if they'd been scorched by mage fire. _Was_ it possible? She didn't know how human women managed such things, but within her clan—and with Solas as well—she'd relied on magical wards to prevent pregnancy, enchantments to nullify male seed. Ellana's own ward was in an anklet that she'd worn for years now. Her Keeper had crafted and enchanted it, as she did for all in the clan, male and female alike. They did need to be recharged every so often. Had hers run out?

"I will take what actions I can to prevent gossip," Josephine said. She reached out, laying a hand on Ellana's bicep. "I take it you did not plan on this?"

Ellana laughed and shook her head. "No." She hated the way Josephine's face twisted with sympathy. "But I don't know for sure. It's early…"

Josephine withdrew as if Ellana's arm had burned her. "You _could_ see Leliana. She knows of some…" She cleared her throat, eyes shifty and awkward, unable to meet Ellana's gaze. "… _other_ options that may be available to you. I don't know how the Dalish handle such unexpected…surprises…between unwed couples."

The clan women knew of herbs to flush an unwanted child from the womb and sometimes it was necessary—in lean years or times of conflict they couldn't afford to hamper themselves with babies. But overall Ellana's clan, and probably most clans, were more forgiving of women without bond partners having children than the Orlesians or Fereldens or any Andrastians would be. All elven children were precious as long as the clan could feed or care for them. After all, sex was just another way the humans encroached on the People. Children born to mixed race couples lost their elven traits. Before Ellana had left for the conclave her Keeper had cautioned her against mingling with human men for just that reason. As one of the Dalish, Ellana knew her blood was purer than most city elves—Solas included, though she had to admit he didn't seem like a city elf.

"They would welcome it, I think," Ellana answered Josephine and found herself smiling slightly before sighing, her head drooping again. "Assuming they welcome me back." She let out a bitter little laugh. "The barefaced Herald of Andraste."

Josephine reached out, touching her again to offer comfort. "Regardless, you will always have a place with the Inquisition."

Ellana laughed, dry and suddenly miserable. "Except that we might be about to disband. _Fenedhis,_ " she cursed with a scowl. "I have wretched timing."

"We will see you through this," Josephine said, her voice bright. "And I'm sure Solas will be pleased." She grinned. "Perhaps there will be a proposal after all."

What would Solas think? Where was he anyway?

Searching the balcony for any sign of him and finding none, Ellana let out a long breath. "Thank you for your help, Josephine," she said. "I…I need to…"

"You need to give Solas the good news," Josephine supplied with a knowing nod. "Of course. I will have more ginger sent with your tea from now on. I will be completely discreet. And I believe we can trust Madame Vivienne with this observation as well. For now, anyway. There is always the Game, sadly, and the Enchanter is very good at it."

"And I am most decidedly not," Ellana grumbled before recomposing herself and giving Josephine a little bow. "Thank you again."

"Any time," the ambassador replied with a smile.

______________________________________________________

Author Note: Well, I caught one spot that needed italics and inserted them with HTML, but daaaaaaaamn. That is going to be a problem going forward if there isn't an easier way.

Next Chapter teaser:

Chewing her lip for a second, Ellana took the plunge. "I'm—well, I might be…" She drifted off, choosing a gentler way of saying it other than pregnant. "…with child."

"Get off," Sera said, reacting immediately. She took a step back, her mouth hanging open as she stared at Ellana. "Droopy ears? I didn't think he had it in him." She flashed a goofy grin and giggled for a moment before sobering at the sight of Ellana's uncomfortable frown.

The Dread Wolf take me and my big mouth, she thought, grimacing and fighting the urge to cover her face with one hand, as if she could hide from Sera and what she'd just done.


	4. Distraction, Deflection, and Humor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana accidentally sets off the Halamshiral rumor mill. Solas struggles with what to do about the Qunari.

"The Qunari are deeply entrenched in the Elvhen library," Abelas reported, his eyes narrowed and his lips pinched thin. "They have been activating eluvians and exploring faster than we can keep up with them."

Abelas' voice echoed through the narrow corridor. The pale stones, ancient and brittle now, left a streak of white on Solas' fingers when he absently brushed them over the wall. They were in a sheltered part of the watchtower, shielded from view by a magic barrier that took the shape of a mural dedicated to Fen'Harel.

"We are too few to push them out," Abelas went on behind Solas. Green veilfire lit the room, hanging suspended without braziers, cast by Solas' own magic. The room _remembered_ him, as so much did in Revasan.

"You recommend retreat?" Solas asked without turning to look at the sentinel.

Abelas sucked in a quick breath and Solas knew the other man would be squaring his shoulders, steeling himself for whatever he was about to say—something Solas wouldn't apparently like. "It is either retreat or duplicity, Fen'Harel. You excel at the latter. I do not understand why we have not yet enlisted the help of the Inquisition."

Solas closed his eyes for a second before a small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth and he pivoted to face the sentinel. "I cannot expose my connection to this place."

The other elf shot him a look of disapproval. "You have let your connection to the Inquisitor hamper you and it would destroy us."

"The inquisition cannot be trusted," Solas shot back hotly. "It is already infected with Quanri spies. We could not trust them to fight the Quanri here. It would lead to disaster."

"Do you not hear yourself?" Abelas asked with a shake of his head. "The Qunari have seen you fighting here. We could not have killed every one we encountered. Word will have reached them and the Qunari inside the Inquisition will make the connection if they haven't already. That has already compromised your identity within the Inquisition. The truth will come out. It is only a matter of time. A _short_ amount of time."

Abelas paused, his glare cruel and cold and everything Solas had dreaded—because it carried the weight of truth. "You should not have returned to the Inquisition this time. You have only yourself to blame for putting her in danger."

"The Qunari reached the Crossroads on their own," Solas said, losing his temper enough to raise his voice. "Halamshiral is the seat of power in Orlais and all of Southern Thedas. And the Qunari fear the Inquisition's power and the Inquisitor's Anchor. They would have targeted both regardless of my presence."

"Then you have no choice, regardless. She is already involved." Abelas' stare was full of challenge. His forehead still carried the Mythal's vallaslin. He'd rejected Solas' offer to remove it. He and the other sentinel elves who'd woken in the temple of Mythal had almost all joined Solas, hoping to restore the glory of the People's past. However, Solas held no illusions as to whom they really served: Mythal. But in his day Solas had been her closest ally before she was murdered.

Of course the primary reason the Evanuris had turned on Mythal was for her close association with the Dread Wolf. He suspected Abelas and the other sentinels understood that, but they also knew Fen'Harel had been in contact with Mythal since waking and they likely assumed he had her support, a belief Solas was happy to foster. Yet none of that guaranteed trust from the sentinels.

"I have no desire to bring more death than is necessary to this world," Solas said, speaking slow and in a wary tone. "We have not exhausted our options yet."

A muscle in Abelas' jaw feathered, snapping taut, but he stayed silent. The two Elvhen mages stared one another down, waiting to see who would flinch first. Long, tense seconds passed as Solas felt his magic rumbling inside his core, ready to strike Abelas down if the sentinel made any sudden moves. He'd killed ruthlessly before, despite the preciousness of each Elvhen who'd woken from uthenera and joined his cause. To keep control of his own forces Solas knew he'd kill again without hesitation—but the thought still pained him like a knife into the chest.

Finally Abelas sighed and lowered his gaze. "I must be honest, Fen'Harel. It is a mistake not to use the tools at your disposal."

Solas had lost count of the number of times he'd cursed himself for sharing his thought of somehow using the Inquisition against the Qunari infesting the Crossroads. During his three months away from Skyhold he'd thought of contacting Ellana through dreams, claiming he'd been investigating eluvians on his own and had discovered the Qunari plot. But it seemed farfetched and, worse, he'd realized the ancient magic scattered about Revasan and the Crossroads would constantly react with and charge the Anchor. It'd enter meltdown and kill Ellana. He'd obtained and enchanted the stormheart arrowhead to test that concern and discovered the Anchor was incredibly sensitive, even to minute amounts of Elvhen magic. The only way to save her life would be to reclaim the Anchor himself and that would naturally bring on some…unavoidable questions about who he really was.

Not to mention Ellana might not believe his story. Once she started down that road of doubting him it wouldn't be long until she discovered the truth. And the Qunari had to know he was "an agent of Fen'Harel" by now. They'd never believe he was the actual elf who'd inspired the legends, but they recognized a leader when they saw one.

"The Inquisitor is not a tool to be used and discarded," Solas said, his voice cold and hard. "She is my ally, just as Mythal was. Would you suggest I endanger Mythal if she still lived?"

"That shem elf is _not_ Mythal," Abelas countered with a growl. "Do not debase my goddess."

"She was no goddess and it is not an insult," Solas murmured, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He gnashed his teeth. The memory of the loss still cut him, sharp as needles stabbing into him. "And I should not have to remind you that we are _all_ shem now."

"We will be restored," Abelas said, unbothered by Solas' reminder that he was mortal now too. "The world will be remade anew. Is this no longer your goal, Fen'Harel?"

"I would see it restored," Solas affirmed, his voice deep and grating with his subdued rage at Abelas' earlier impertinence. He wouldn't fight with the sentinel over Ellana's virtues, as much as he wanted to. Abelas was a reflection of himself years ago, before he'd joined the Inquisition. Abelas didn't interact with the waking world's humans or modern elves and so dismissed their value, disregarded their sentience. Until the sentinel saw otherwise on his own there was nothing Solas could do to convince him of the truth.

"Yet you hesitate," Abelas challenged him.

"I have seen the cost of my actions before. I would not repeat the same mistake without being certain of the outcome." Turning away from Abelas, Solas flicked a hand toward the short stair leading up to the magic mural that hid the room they were in. A green lash of his magic crackled, dissolving the mural when it made contact. Golden sunlight lit the stairs from the setting sun outside and crisp air rolled in. "We are finished with this discussion," Solas said. "I will aid you and the others in escaping. I know of a safe hold in the wilderness. And I will visit you in the Fade tonight."

"But you will not join us at the safe hold?" Abelas asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"My absence will have already been noted at Halamshiral," Solas admitted with a slight frown.

"Will you leave the eluvian to Halamshiral active?" Abelas asked as he walked for the stairs. "I may need to send someone to you if the Qunari—"

"No," Solas cut him off. "I will not leave Halamshiral so easily accessible. The Qunari could invade through the eluvian and kill the Empress." They ascended the stairs and paused at the railing, staring out over the green, forested hills. If the sun was setting here in Revasan, the freed slave sanctuary, Solas knew it'd be well after nightfall at Halamshiral.

"And if we encounter an unforeseen danger or require your guidance?" Abelas asked. "We cannot spare you in this time, _hahren._ "

"I will be in the Fade and Halamshiral has dozens of our spies," Solas said, dismissing Abelas' concerns with an impatient wave of one hand. "With the eluvian I will never be far away, physically."

Abelas sighed and frowned, clearly displeased. "As you say, Fen'Harel." He started to turn away, heading for the stairway circling further up the tower, but Solas reached out and caught his elbow.

"Abelas," he said, his voice quiet and low with threat. "Do not test my patience." He hoped the warning and his accompanying glare carried his deeper meaning: _Do not make me kill you._

The sentinel dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "Fen'Harel enansal."

They climbed the watchtower, passing ancient murals painted by freed slaves and willing servants of the Dread Wolf. At the top, standing beside an active eluvian, five other Elvhen mages and sentinels stood in shining armor in shades of silver, gray, and black. Solas stood out as the humblest dressed, lacking any outward armor. Three of the five waiting beside the eluvian were sentinels from Mythal's temple in the Arbor Wilds. The other two were arcane warriors, mages who'd served Solas before uthenera.

"Mathrel, Lyris," he called to the arcane warriors. "Do you recall the way to Hellathen Hamin?"

Lyris, the more talkative of the warriors, answered, "Yes." Her voice was deep for a woman, brooding with the promise of destruction to any who stood in her way. She and Mathrel had trained like siblings from an early age, always fighting in a cohesive unit. "Is the eluvian active?" she asked.

"Unlikely," Solas replied, tucking his hands behind his back like the commander he was and had been in ages past. "I will activate it when we reach it. You should be safe there from the Qunari."

One of the sentinel elves, a nimble and lithe rogue with brown hair, said, "I will not flee before these fools. I wish to fight. They cannot take the Crossroads. They cannot despoil Elvhenan."

The other sentinels shifted on their feet and Solas didn't miss the fire in their eyes. He stayed stiff and stern, watching them with narrowed eyes. The problem with Mythal's sentinels was their willingness to die for the cause. They were courageous and determined, honorable to a fault, but they'd never win against the Qunari or the waking world with their current attitude. They'd just die, accomplishing nothing. Even over two years mingling with his own Elvhen—and a few of the more talented modern elves he'd taken in—had yet to temper their enthusiasm for self-sacrifice.

"Arina," he said, addressing the rogue. "There is no honor in fighting a battle you cannot win. The Qunari are as numerous as ants and their blades are unworthy of your blood. Save your life—and your death—for something greater. The world we remake must have Elvhen to populate it."

"I am the weakest," Arina said, jutting her chin out with pride despite her words. "If there must be death, it should be mine." She wasn't referring to physical strength when she called herself weak. She was the only rogue in this group, but had the Veil not hampered her connection to the Fade she would've been a mage. Still she possessed enough magical talent to Fade step, making her valuable and unique enough to convince Solas to keep her here.

"I ask no sacrifices," Solas told her, his expression stern but his voice soft. "The Elvhen have sacrificed enough. Fight if you must, but you are not defending the temple any longer. This is a not a war, but a hunt. We are not an army, but a wolf pack. Each individual lost is a great wound and weakens the whole."

He sensed rather than saw Abelas nodding nearby with approval. Of all the sentinels Abelas had been the one to most easily grasp Solas' teachings. Freethinkers were always the best lieutenants…and also the most dangerous.

"Fen'Harel enansal," Arina said, bowing.

"Come, we must—"

An explosion cut through the air, the shockwave hitting them from somewhere below. The ancient stones of the watchtower quivered under Solas' feet and the world started to tip hard to the left.

"Through the eluvian," he yelled.

"We are under siege," Abelas shouted. "They fire from on the lake!"

"Go," Solas ordered, gesturing for the eluvian. The tower groaned from the impact of the explosion that'd hit somewhere below them, tilting further to the left and knocking the elves from their feet as they scrambled for the mirror. Solas hesitated, letting the sentinels and the warriors spring for the eluvian first.

Abelas was the last through and he paused a moment to look over his shoulder, a panicked expression in his eyes. "Solas!"

_How amusing that he uses my true name now,_ Solas thought as time slowed with his own mind and body's reaction to the explosion and the inevitable fall of the watchtower. He used Fade step to surge forward, bumping into Abelas and pushing him through the mirror and careening in after the sentinel.

He spilled out on the other side, white dust over his robes, catching himself like a cat landing on its feet as the song of the Crossroads once more sang into his ears. His breathing slowed and his heartbeat gradually stopped drumming in his ears. All of his people had made it through onto the black rock of the island in the Crossroads and now stood about, eyes wide and faces flushed with their near death.

Finally Mathrel spat off the edge of the island into the void. "Fuck those Qunari shem."

Lyris laughed at him, slugging him in the shoulder.

Taking a breath, Solas spoke, "Enough." The other elves, including the warriors, sobered and stared at him, waiting and tense. Solas reached one hand to the eluvian behind him and with a green glow from his fingers it went dark. "It would appear the situation is…volatile." He felt shaky, as if he might collapse, and his stomach clenched at the realization that he couldn't return to Halamshiral just yet. "We cannot allow the Qunari to gain a foothold in Revasan."

"The Crossroads should be our main concern," Abelas disagreed. "The Deep Roads lyrium mine is a greater threat as well. Revasan is not worth our lives."

"Agreed," Solas said with a nod. "But the Qunari now have three nests. We will never eradicate them at this rate and we are too few." He scowled, thinking hard.

"We cannot lose control of the eluvians," Abelas said, the words a growl.

Solas shot him a glare. "We will not lose them. I will die before I allow the Qun to enslave Southern Thedas."

Abelas nodded, approving again, and Solas knew what the sentinel would suggest before he spoke. "The Inquisition."

Feeling their eyes on him, Solas nodded slowly. "But it must be done carefully. I must think on how to accomplish it."

"We don't have much time," Lyris reminded him.

"You are correct," Solas told her. "Lead on."

"Where?" she asked. "Hellathen Hamin? But the Qunari will probably just follow us there too. They followed us to Revasan."

"Yes," Solas admitted with a mild frown. "After four months. I will see to it they are wiped out before they have a chance to follow."

"You intend to summon a greater force?" Abelas asked, his expression wary. "Beyond the Inquisition?" 

"In time," Solas said, deliberately vague. He kept his full plans hidden from different factions so that none of them could betray each other fully, allowing the network to survive such calamities. Abelas didn't know what Solas had set in motion in Tevinter, and his lieutenants in the Imperium likewise knew little of the struggle in the Crossroads.

He motioned across the void to a nearby, unconnected island. "For now, we must move."

______________________________________________

The Ferelden ambassador had a pockmarked complexion and a gaunt face that only contributed to his weasel-like look. He'd spent the last twenty minutes with a group of Orlesians, chatting as they sipped wine from elegant glasses. Ellana and Sera had taken up position behind a corner, tucked into an alleyway between a blacksmith and a small marketplace. Here they were just out of earshot and sight, but they knew eventually the Ferelden ambassador would have to pass this way to return to his chambers in the guest wing of the palace.

And when he did, Ellana had a crème pie with his name on it.

Ellana wore the servant garb of the winter palace while Sera held a large round tray loaded with tins of crème pies and a few spare bottles of wine and glasses. That way they could appease thirsty nobility who wandered by seeking refreshment or refills. So far none of them had asked about the crème pies, thankfully.

"The little people here are weird," Sera said after they'd caught up. "Everyone's…happy."

Ellana reclined against the wall in a position where she would be able to see and hear movement on the path from the balcony overlook. "That's a bad thing?" she asked.

"Oh stuff it," Sera grumbled with a wave of her hand. "You know what I mean. No one's asking for a Jenny. The bigwigs are still punching down like always, but no one wants to stick it back to them." She shook her head, her straw-colored hair flowing with the motion. "It's not right. It's like down is up. White is black. Not the way the world works."

Ellana recalled the proud gait of the servant who'd unpacked her saddlebags and nodded. "I think I know what you mean."

She crossed her arms under her breasts and winced, suddenly realizing they were tender. _Of course they are,_ she thought and resisted the desire to roll her eyes at herself. She'd bounced between shock and denial over the last few hours since Josephine had spoken with her about Vivienne's suspicions, which had since become her suspicions as well. As much as she hated Vivienne's arrogance and shallowness, Ellana realized she was going to have to thank the Enchanter—assuming the other woman did keep her mouth shut.

And she still hadn't been able to find Solas. _Elgar'nan's breath, where are you?_

"You're doing that thing again, Herald," Sera reprimanded her with a sidelong grin. Then she mimicked Ellana's sour expression with an exaggerated frown. "We're supposed to be having fun! Can't be all gloom, all the time, always. Else you'll turn into droopy ears."

Ellana chuckled under her breath. "Funny you should mention him."

"Innit?" Sera asked, suddenly stepping forward, moving the tray of pies, glasses, and wine from her lap to the ground so she could edge close to Ellana to speak conspiratorially. Her brownish eyes glinted in the dim light cast from a nearby lantern outside the tavern. "Saw him out here earlier. Skulking round. Some servant, another elfy-elf like him, came by to see him."

Ellana stared at her. "What?"

"You heard. Could be droopy ears doesn't want to be found." Her expression was angry but as Ellana simply stared at her, confused and stricken, Sera backed off a step and gave a nervous giggle. "Or could be he's in the palace waiting on you, same as you are with him. You know, what do I know? Shite is what."

"What…happened?" Ellana asked, trying to swallow the sudden painful lump that'd formed in her throat. "What did you see exactly, Sera?"

"Nothing, really," Sera said quickly, hands raised palms up. "Just the same elf stopped and said hello. Just for a minute."

"Did he leave with her?" Ellana asked and cringed at how tiny and frail her voice sounded.

"Didn't see him leave," Sera said with a shake of her head. "And I saw her still round here after you got out from your fancy-pants dinner. So…no."

Ellana let out a relieved breath and then frowned, reaching into her neckline to play with the arrowhead again. Of course Solas hadn't run off with some stranger. That wasn't like him at all. But where had he gone then?

"He's probably sleeping," Sera said as if she could read Ellana's mind, her nose wrinkling. When she spoke again it was clearly meant to be mocking Solas. "Spirits are people. Save the demons. The Fade is awesome—all that shite."

Despite the weight of worry still pressing on her, Ellana let out a long, loud laugh at Sera's imitation. When she'd caught her breath she said, "I wouldn't be surprised if he is somewhere causing trouble like that. He didn't want to come here."

"But you made him?" Sera asked, eyebrows arching as she grinned. "Go you. We should crème pie him when we see him for making you worry."

Ellana laughed again before averting her eyes and staring at her shoes. "More than you know."

"Oh yeah?" Sera asked, moving closer, invading Ellana's personal space. "So tell me."

Ellana hesitated, staring into Sera's brown eyes as her heart suddenly seemed to be thundering in her ears and pressure building in her throat. She wanted to unload the weight of it to someone—anyone—but she knew that person _should_ be Solas first. Yet, maybe she wasn't pregnant. Maybe she'd made a mistake with the timing. If she'd been with the clan she could have consulted them for guidance, seeing the healer. But here she could trust no one outside of her Inquisition, and of her inner circle Sera was both another woman and an elf. That made Sera the most likely one to talk to about this…

Chewing her lip for a second, Ellana took the plunge. "I'm—well, I might be…" She drifted off, choosing a gentler way of saying it other than _pregnant._ "…with child."

"Get off," Sera said, reacting immediately. She took a step back, her mouth hanging open as she stared at Ellana. "Droopy ears? I didn't think he had it in him." She flashed a goofy grin and giggled for a moment before sobering at the sight of Ellana's uncomfortable frown.

_The Dread Wolf take me and my big mouth,_ she thought, grimacing and fighting the urge to cover her face with one hand, as if she could hide from Sera and what she'd just done. It already felt like a mistake. 

"It's all right," Sera said, reaching out to touch her shoulder with a reassuring little squeeze. "This is a good thing—unless you think it's not. Then it isn't, I guess. Is that arse biscuit hiding from you? Cause of this?" She poked a finger at Ellana's flat abdomen.

"He doesn't know," Ellana murmured, trying to smile. Her face was still aflame.

Sera squeezed her shoulder again, trying to cheer her up. "You watch. He'll show. And when he does? We have a pie just for him." She mimed throwing one of the tins and made a noise with her tongue between her lips. "Splat." She laughed and Ellana found herself able to chuckle too at the mental image.

"Thank you, Sera. I needed that laugh." She searched with her eyes quickly around their little alley and the empty corridor beyond it. The night air was humid and warm, full of the promise of plenty from high summer. Drawing in a breath, Ellana gripped Sera's hand on her shoulder and said, "Can you keep this just between us?"

Sera's lips curled in a crooked grin. "Right, yeah. Not a word."

At that moment they both heard the crunch of grit beneath an approaching person's feet and Sera hissed through her teeth, stifling a laugh. Ellana leaned out and recognized the Ferelden ambassador's skulking frame drawing closer.

"It's him," she whispered and Sera scrambled to pass her a pie.

Ellana hefted it, feeling the uneven, lumpy distribution of crème in the tin and edged further out as she prepared to aim and fire. The ambassador walked with his head down, watching his feet. Ellana whistled to make him lift his head and then launched the pie. It smacked onto his face and he stumbled back with a comical yelp, fists flailing as he lost his balance and fell over.

"Run!" Sera said, grabbing the tray.

Laughing so hard her cheeks hurt, Ellana charged after her out the other side of the alley and into the darkened courtyard beyond. They heard a mixture of shouts and laughter behind them as the other nobility reacted to the ambassador's hilarious misfortune.

"That was good, yeah?" Sera asked, still breathing fast after their sprint. They crossed the courtyard, moving to the gardens to shelter in the dark behind a wall. "Eat it, you snobby codger."

"I think we should pie him again tomorrow night," Ellana said, grinning. "And every night of the summit."

"Frigging yeah!" Sera pumped the air with a fist, grinning. "He'll be pissing himself thinking there's a pie round every corner." Then, giggling harder, she asked, "Wait, do you mean Fereldy guy or daddy droopy ears?"

Ellana snorted and elbowed Sera in the ribs. "You know who I meant, Sera."

"Right, daddy it is then," Sera quipped and sniggered, dodging Ellana's next playful swing. The pies, glasses, and wine bottles on her tray slid off onto the concrete with a clatter and splat. A voice called out with alarm and Sera hissed through her teeth, "Run!" 

____________________________________

In every scenario Solas considered, he lost. It was an unwinnable game, a quagmire. He'd faced a decision like that before—when he created the Veil.

He watched the moon rising into the summer sky, above the cracked and crumbling walls of Hellathen Hamin. It was almost full, bright and milky and beautiful, making him think of Ellana's skin. He heard the others behind him murmuring around the crackling campfire they'd lit and smelled the remnants of the rabbit they'd caught and prepared, seasoning with wild herbs. They'd passed around mushrooms and a few other vegetables they harvested in the hours since arriving as well. The food rejuvenated Solas and he'd hoped for a clearer mind as he withdrew from the others to stare at the sky and consider his predicament—but no easy answers came.

He needed to sleep to access the Fade and communicate with his people in Tevinter, but though his body was heavy with fatigue, his mind wouldn't stop spinning with possibilities. All of them ran into nasty roadblocks. He approached the Inquisition for help and Ellana discovered who he was and hated him. He did nothing and lost control of the Crossroads and eluvians. He wound up being unmasked as Fen'Harel and made an enemy out of the Inquisition, or Orlais, or Ferelden, or all of them, and found himself fighting the entirety of Thedas head on. And then there was the most likely scenario—Ellana died when the Anchor overpowered.

He knew he could save her life, but it wouldn't be pleasant. She wouldn't thank him for it if she knew the Anchor _might_ remain stable the rest of her natural life, assuming she avoided ancient Elvhen magic. But Abelas was right that he _needed_ to bring in help if they were to regain control of the Crossroads.

"Fenedhis," he cursed, scrubbing at his face in frustration. There _had_ to be a path with an acceptable resolution.

A small rustle behind him made Solas tense, twisting to glare over his shoulder. When he saw it was Lyris, he relaxed, letting his guard ease slightly. "Lyris," he greeted her with a gentle smile and a dip of his chin.

"Hahren," she answered, also smiling. She had a thicker frame than Ellana, made muscular with centuries of intense training, though she was leaner now than she'd been before uthenera. Fortunately the long sleep had not claimed her white-silver hair. She moved with the grace of a cat, but with greater force and speed. Cassandra had often reminded him of Lyris after he joined the Inquisition.

He looked to the moon again, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, smelling the rich, earthy scent of the overgrown ruins. "Have you come to advise me, _falon?_ " he asked.

"Would you listen if I did?" she asked.

"Nothing is certain," he replied, turning his head just enough to make eye contact, smiling at her. "But you will never know unless you try."

Lyris sighed. "Two beings cannot inhabit a single body."

"What of demonic possession?" Solas quipped, smirking over his shoulder.

"One being's will always overpowers the other," Lyris said. "You suggested I advise you. Will you not even hear it without mocking?"

Solas sighed, scowling. "You are saying nothing that has not already occurred to me a thousand times."

"Are you Fen'Harel or Solas?" Lyris asked, edging closer.

"I'm unsure that I have a say in the matter," Solas answered, continuing to stare forward at the moon. His chest ached with pressure growing from within. He wished he could release it with a keening howl like a real wolf, calling to his missing heart and cursing the harshness of the world he'd created that threatened to separate them.

"The Dread Wolf doesn't have a choice?" Lyris repeated and scoffed. "Fen'Harel of Revasan. Rebel and slave-freer. You have always fought to free the People, because it was what was right and it was your choice to fight. When did you become trapped? When did you submit? The wolf I know would chew off his own leg first."

Solas gnashed his teeth together. "You do not understand," he said, his voice rough with anger. "The elves of this time remember Fen'Harel as a monster. They do not remember a rebel, but a trickster, a traitor who sundered them from the Fade so completely they no longer remember the world is incomplete. They remember the Evanuris as gods despite everything I fought for. The Dalish have taught me I cannot control how I—or my actions—will be remembered. None can."

"So you will give in?" Lyris asked, the words full of her disbelief. "What was the meaning of it all if you give up now? What was the point of surviving, of remembering Elvhenan?" By the time she fell silent Solas could hear the thickness of tears in her throat, though he knew she would never shed them.

Solas pivoted to glare at her. "I have not given up," he snarled, glaring daggers at her. "I will _never_ give up." He hesitated, taking a moment to breathe, calming himself. "I merely mourn for what must come next."

Lyris narrowed her eyes, searching over him for a moment before she said, "If the Inquisitor truly cares for you she will love Fen'Harel as much as Solas. And if she does, she might ally with us. She might be a shem-elf, but she's still one of the People. So why do you hold back?" When he averted his gaze and turned back to the moon, Lyris grunted. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"Leave me," he ordered. "I must think."

With a sigh, Lyris walked away from him, the grasses rustling as she retreated to the fire. Her words stayed with Solas, echoing in his mind: _So why do you hold back?_

_Because I cannot bear to betray her and risk losing her._

_______________________________________________

The morning of the first day of the Exalted Council found Ellana lying sprawled on her enormous bed, drooling on her luxurious silken pillows. Then the knock at the door came as knuckles rapped against the paneled wood. She groaned and sat up, her hair askew and loose in its braid. The room spun a little when she tried to sit up, so she relaxed again and grimaced at the foul taste in her mouth as she closed her eyes again.

The knock came once more, making her remember why she'd woken in the first place. Tugging the covers up over herself—she slept in just her breast band and underthings—she called out groggily, "Who is it?"

"I've brought you tea, your worship." It was Josephine's voice.

Ellana crawled out of bed, grabbing the robe she'd hung up on one of the bedposts, and wrapped it over herself. "Come in, Josie."

The ambassador hurried into the room, fully dressed and balancing a tray with a small teakettle and teacups. She set it down on a little end table near the entrance and then knocked the door shut quickly as she turned to regard Ellana with a tight, worried expression. "How are you feeling, Inquisitor?"

"Tired," Ellana said, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "And like I really want that tea. And a bath. And breakfast." She shuffled to the tray and poured a cup. The ginger smell made her sigh with enjoyment. Sipping it made her eyes flutter shut with pleasure. "This is delicious."

"I'm glad to hear that," Josephine said and cleared her throat. Ellana finally noticed the way the ambassador seemed to anxiously shift her weight from one foot to another, wringing her hands.

"What's wrong?" she asked after she'd downed the tea. She moved to refill it, shivering as the heat in her belly spread out.

"Leliana reported to me very early this morning," Josephine said and winced. Her face seemed to be stuck that way, as if she was in pain. "She said there are rampant rumors in the servant quarters about your…condition."

Ellana almost choked on her next sip. With suddenly shaking hands, she set the teacup onto the tray and turned to gawk at the ambassador. "What?"

"I don't understand," Josephine blurted, her eyes wide with barely restrained horror. "We've only been here a day! The servants shouldn't be able to guess anything handling your laundry or personal belongings, and other than your mild illness yesterday…" Her eyes roved over Ellana, silently questioning her.

Ellana laid a hand over her stomach and hunched over, groaning. "I'm going to _kill_ that girl."

"Oh," Josephine said, almost squeaking. "So…you told someone…?"

"Fen'Harel's balls," Ellana cursed. "Fenedhis. Dammit." The tea seemed to be climbing up her throat. She breathed, trying to soothe it. _Everything will be okay…_

"Well," Josephine said, sounding calmer. "This is somewhat of a relief. I had feared this meant Madame Vivienne had turned against us. Now it would seem it is…merely your own indiscretion working against us."

"I am _so_ sorry, Josephine," Ellana said, covering her face with both hands and groaning. "I was just so desperate to talk to someone and Sera seemed like…"

"Sera?" Josephine repeated. "Oh, no. Maker help us."

"I know, it was a mistake. I just…" Ellana's eyes started burning with emotion. She pressed her thumbs to her eyes and then fanned her face, still trying not to vomit at the same time as she struggled to hold back her tears. "I couldn't find Solas. He's just gone and I needed to confide in _someone._ "

"You couldn't find Solas?" Josephine repeated, surprised.

"No," Ellana cried and suddenly the first tears were falling. She gritted her teeth and flicked them away. "He's just… _gone."_ She sucked in a wet, thick breath, recomposing herself.

"I will put all of our people on alert looking for him," Josephine said, reaching out and gripping Ellana's shoulders. "We _will_ find him. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's well. Everything will be fine, Inquisitor."

Ellana nodded, squaring her jaw and swallowing the last lump of stubborn tea and bile down her throat. "Okay…I can do this." She offered Josephine a wan smile, returning her grip with one hand. "Do you have any advice for me?"

Josephine bit her lip a moment and then said, "Don't tell anyone else. Don't confirm the rumor. Remember you are above it and this does not affect the summit. If any of the politicians attempt to use it against you personally, I will try and deflect it. Distraction, deflection, and humor. Remember those three things and you will do fine."

_Distraction. Deflection. Humor._ Ellana repeated it in a mantra as she washed and dressed for the council. Her breakfast was an assortment of fruits and pastries that she ate with gusto only to lose her appetite halfway through and reject the rest of her plate. Her abdomen felt heavy and tight now that she was aware she might be pregnant.

_Might be?_ _Mythal's mercy, denial much?_

She listened to the birds chirping and the distant sound of conversation and laughter from the courtyard, willing herself to be strong when she walked through the halls and sat on the council to listen to Divine Victoria and the ambassadors argue about the Inquisition's future. And as soon as they took a break she swore she was going to find Sera and flay her alive.

A masked herald escorted her to the council chambers where she sat next to Josephine, who smiled pleasantly at her. Ellana didn't miss the steaming teapot at her table with a teacup waiting. The smell of ginger tickled her nose.

_Right, can't have me getting sick in front of the politicians._

"Inquisitor Lavellan," the Orlesian ambassador greeted her with what she hoped was a genuine smile. With his mask on it was impossible to tell, but his voice seemed warm. "How good of you to join us. How are you feeling?"

Ellana stared at him, her lips curling into a feigned smile as she scanned over Cassandra and that weasel Arl Teagan, the Ferelden ambassador, sitting next to her. Had any of them heard the rumor or was he reacting to old news of her feeling faint yesterday? Cassandra had an innocent, blank look on her face and Ellana guessed that meant the former Seeker had no clue. She'd never been one to listen to gossip—unless it came from Varric of course. The Ferelden ambassador looked like he'd bitten into a sour grape, but was that because he was judging her or because he'd caught a glimpse of who'd thrown the pie at him last night?

"Very well," she replied to the Orlesian ambassador. "And you?"

"Very good," he replied and glanced to Cassandra. "Shall we begin, your holiness?"

_Distraction. Deflection, Humor. I can do this._

__________________________________

Original post author note:

I like to think of this earliest story arc as being the "Solas Doesn't Know" theme, which is utterly hilarious for its irony that Solas usually knows everything about everything. Putting him in this humiliating position brought me an inordinate amount of joy. I hope it does for all of you as well! So feel free to play "Scotty Doesn't Know" as a theme song for this chapter and the next one to come.

Next chapter teaser:

"I'd much rather continue this at a later time," Solas protested. In truth he had plenty of time, but he didn't want to spend any of it dealing with Dorian and his bizarre quest to force him and Ellana into matrimony.

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Dorian answered, teasing his mustache with one hand for a moment as he grinned. "Now, you simply must tell me. Are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?" Solas asked, terse and unconcerned.

Dorian, oddly, froze at Solas' innocent question. Staring at Solas, his lips pinched and his eyes narrowed, he was speechless for several long heartbeats. Finally he let out a quick, high-pitched guffaw. "You haven't heard?"


	5. Daddy Droopy Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas returns to Halamshiral with dire news. He also learns he missed some important palace gossip. For some reason, no one wants to repeat this juicy rumor to a very frustrated apostate.

Morning light colored the room and the sound of birdsong filled Solas' ears as he stepped through the eluvian and found himself back in the locked storage room at Halamshiral. He'd been away all night and by now he suspected Ellana would be at the summit, distracted by the endless droning of the politicians.

He started for the closed windows, staring out into the quiet alley below, contemplating. He _could_ try and trick Ellana and the Inquisition into finding the active eluvian by themselves. It'd be easy enough to capture a Qunari warrior, mortally wound him, and then push him through the Halamshiral mirror. From there someone would find his corpse and follow the blood trail back to the mirror.

He'd considered that plan the night before but always dismissed it as needlessly dishonest. He'd already misled Ellana and the Inquisition for years and she was too clever not to begin asking questions once she started finding clues in the Crossroads or tangled with Qunari who'd call Solas "an agent of Fen'Harel." Better to try what Lyris suggested: honest alliance.

 _How can she forgive me for this?_ Solas asked himself, grimacing and shaking his head. But she deserved the truth far more than he deserved her innocent love. _I_ _should have told her years ago…_

Turning from the window, Solas strode instead to the door, pausing a moment to brush at his robes and checking for bloodstains or debris from the collapsing watchtower. He found dirt and pine needles from the night he'd spent at Hellathen Hamin. Sniffing at himself, he made a face, wishing he had time to bathe and wash the campfire smell from his clothes. No such luck. He stashed his staff beneath a low table near the door, knowing it'd draw attention in the palace if he walked around armed—not that he needed the weapon to be deadly.

After listening at the door for a while to be sure the hallway outside was empty, Solas unlocked the door and slipped through. The palace beyond was still and peaceful, deceptively calm like Solas himself. He shut the door as softly as possible and strode quickly away, tugging the hood on his robes up and over his head as he walked. The servants he passed ignored him, set on their tasks, but he did catch a few curious stares as they registered he wasn't one of them.

When he encountered his first Inquisition sentry, a human man standing slumped along a corner beside some masked Orlesian guards, Solas clenched his jaw and kept his pace steady and his head downward slightly, hoping to pass unnoticed. But before he'd gone halfway down the hall the Inquisition man shouted, "You there! Halt!"

Solas obeyed and forced himself to smile in greeting. "Yes?"

"What are you doing in here, mage?" one of the Orlesian guards demanded with a pensive scowl. "Are you a speaker at the Exalted Council?" Unlike the noble who'd called Solas a rabbit the previous day, this guard recognized him for what he was on sight.

Before Solas could reply, the Inquisition sentry motioned at him and said, "Put your hood down."

The suspicion in the sentry's voice was impossible to miss, and his narrowed eyes told Solas he had no chance of getting by these men without being recognized. He tugged the hood down, somehow managing to smile even as all three humans reacted with recognition.

"You're Inquisitor Lavellan's Fade expert," the Inquisition man said. "Solas."

"Yes," he answered, keeping his voice lighthearted and calm. He twisted to show them the armband with the Inquisition symbol embroidered on it. "I was just on my way to the Exalted Council. I seem to have gotten turned around."

The sentry started toward him, his tread authoritative. "The Inquisitor gave orders for us to find you."

He blinked, startled by this news. Of course Ellana would have noticed his absence by now, but to have the whole Inquisition looking for him? Squashing his reaction, he allowed the sentry to walk up to him, ignoring the pounding of his heart. "Is there a problem?"

With his back to the Orlesians the Inquisition sentry's expression relaxed somewhat, but his voice was still gruff as he answered Solas' question. "No problem, sir. Just following orders is all." He motioned down the hall in the opposite direction from where Solas had been heading. "If you'll follow me."

With his back stiff and a knot of tension growing in his chest, Solas obeyed. Magic coiled inside him, ready to be unleashed at any moment. The sentry could be a Qunari spy, not a loyal member of the Inquisition.

The sentry brought him to a doorway that led outside and stopped, speaking in whispers with another set of Orlesian and Inquisition guards. The whole group stared at Solas, their lips quirking in a way he interpreted as withholding some emotion—smirks? Sneers? The previous day he'd been able to pass undetected through the palace, but now they all seemed to recognize him. Had all of Halamshiral gone mad the single night he was away?

Another Inquisition sentry left her post at the door and entered the pavilion beyond. Solas couldn't see inside, but he could hear raised voices and arguing. When he tilted his head, concentrating, he recognized Josephine interrupting, calling for a recess. Chairs scraped on the floor and a pompous male voice protested the adjournment, but already Solas heard footsteps thumping over the floor, coming toward the door—and he recognized the tread. It was Ellana.

Drawing in a breath, he steeled himself for what would surely become a confrontation.

________________________________

Ellana's blood had already been boiling with the Ferelden ambassador's attacks on the Inquisition, so when a sentry whispered to her that they'd located Solas, she was thrilled for more than one reason to leave the politician spluttering with barely repressed rage. Every step through the pavilion toward the palace made her heart hammer harder and faster in her chest, anticipating something…out of the ordinary. Her stomach fluttered, ever-volatile recently as she tried to keep her mind empty rather than coming up with bizarre reasons for why Solas disappeared the previous night.

The sentry exited the pavilion with her and as Ellana followed she saw they really had brought Solas—though by his expression he wasn't entirely happy about it. "Solas?" she called, trying to restrain her first instinct to rush toward him like the worried lover she was.

"Inquisitor," he replied with a nod, his posture stiff and aloof. Her first thought was one of panic. Did he know already? Was he angry or upset or just unhappy she'd been foolish enough to talk to others before him? But the shape and darkness of his eyes revealed not anger but something closer to despair. She held her tongue, aware of the curious onlookers. The Orlesian guards and the two Inquisition sentries both watched them with open curiosity.

"I apologize for my absence," he began then, his voice strained and formal. "I'm afraid it was unavoidable. I have dire news." His gray-blue eyes flicked toward the sentries and the guards. "Perhaps it would be best if we met with your advisers in a more...suitable location."

Unable to stop herself from frowning, Ellana said, "All right." Her skin felt hot and then cold, heavy with the sudden onset of dread as she wondered what could be so dire that Solas would pull her from the Exalted Council. "I'm sure Josephine can cover for me—but I can't stay away long."

"I understand," he said, but his brow knit and his lips worked as if holding back additional words. Finally he flashed a small smile, though it didn't reach his sad, dark eyes. "I did not wish to trouble you. I will await your summons in the courtyard."

"No," she blurted and then blinked at her own outburst. The single word managed to be both alarmed and angry at once.

Solas noticed it too and shot her a glance of confusion and—was it fear? His solemn expression intensified as he asked, "Inquisitor?"

Ellana licked her lips, about to tell him she needed to speak with him in private but stopped, aware of the sentries and guards within earshot. This encounter had been strange enough as it was. The last thing Ellana needed was to be seen pulling him into a side room to whisper in private. The guards and sentries would surely talk about it and make the connection between the rumors about her "delicate condition" and Solas' strange vanishing act.

Steeling herself, Ellana jutted out her chin and said, "I'd prefer if you waited here. It will only take a moment to summon Leliana and Commander Cullen." Before he could reply she turned and motioned to the nearest Inquisition sentry. "Please find our spymaster and the commander and bring them here." To the Orlesians she said, "I will require a private room to meet with my advisors."

Both the sentry and the guard hurried to do her bidding. Ellana waited in the hallway with Solas in what should have been companionable silence but was actually tense and awkward with the Orlesian guards still within earshot. Soon the Orlesian ambassador and Divine Victoria exited the pavilion, both stopping to make friendly small talk with Ellana as they left.

"Solas," Cassandra said with a warm smile. "It's good to see you again, my friend."

"Seeker," Solas greeted her, also smiling. "Oh, forgive me. Divine Victoria."

"I have never stopped being a Seeker, truly." Cassandra glanced to Ellana quickly before speaking to Solas again. "We missed you yesterday. Did you leave the palace grounds?"

"No," Solas said, his smile shrinking noticeably. "I was merely indisposed."

Ellana stared at him, forcing her expression to remain neutral to hide her disbelief. Even if he'd been extremely ill, a servant or _someone_ would've found him. And that story didn't explain his reappearance looking pale and stressed, but otherwise healthy.

"Quite the coincidence," the Orlesian ambassador put in, his lips curling in a smile that immediately made Ellana's skin crawl. "The winter palace is simply fraught with mystery illnesses!"

Both Cassandra and Solas stared at the ambassador with blank or confused expressions. The reaction from Solas made the knot of anxiety in Ellana's chest ease slightly. If Solas had heard of her pregnancy in rumor she felt sure he wouldn't be able to feign the look on his face now.

 _Distraction, deflection, and humor_ , Josephine's words repeated in her head. Ellana let out a polite laugh at the ambassador's joke and then, feigning enthusiasm, said, "Speaking of mysteries, did you hear about the servants throwing pies last night?"

The Orlesian ambassador's mouth fell open a moment before he let out a loud laugh. "I did, actually. Arl Teagan was apparently one of the victims. He was livid about it last night."

Controlling her own laughter, Ellana gave a theatrical gasp. "Not the distinguished Ferelden ambassador. How dreadful."

"Yes," Cassandra said, shooting Ellana a knowing glare. "I will speak with the palace staff. We cannot tolerate such _childish_ behavior during the summit."

"Certainly not," the Orlesian ambassador said, though he was still smiling.

As the sentry returned with Cullen and Leliana in tow, their expressions grave and their body language stiff, the ambassador and Cassandra excused themselves. A winter palace servant escorted the four of them to a small room down the hall from the outdoor pavilion entrance. Once everyone was inside with the door closed, Leliana immediately turned on Solas.

"Care to enlighten us on where you were yesterday and why?" Her eyes were hard and cold with suspicion.

The room they'd been given to meet in was a spacious study with one wall covered in floor to ceiling windows. Tall bookshelves took up the other wall space and a long table with unlit candles dominated the center. Ellana stayed near the door, wincing as she crossed her arms over her chest again only to remember that hurt now. She leaned against a bookcase, watching and waiting with her two advisers as Solas walked to the windows. The casual grace of his steps might've fooled Ellana years ago but now she didn't miss the way little muscles worked in his jaw and the side of his head. His pointed ears were red at the tips.

With his back to the three of them, Solas said, "As you well know, my extensive study of the Fade has made me something of an expert on Elvhen artifacts and their associated magic. Yesterday, I sensed just such magic. Upon investigating, I discovered an active eluvian."

"What?" Cullen blurted. "There's an elven mirror in the winter palace?"

Solas twisted at the neck to stare coolly at the commander. "Indeed, there are several in fact. I sensed them on my first visit to the palace during the peace talks before the defeat of Corypheus, but they were not active at that time. The one I sensed yesterday was."

"Solas," Ellana said, her voice tighter than she'd like. She swallowed, feeling an ache in her throat when he tilted his head to acknowledge her but didn't meet her gaze directly. "Why didn't you bring this to my attention?"

He stepped back from the windows, facing the three of them without meeting any of their stares. "I did not wish to interfere with the Exalted Council, but I could not ignore the eluvian. I had to see what lay on the other side."

"And what did you find?" Leliana asked. A neat smile curled over her lips, almost in mockery. Ellana recognized it as the look she often wore when she'd caught someone in a lie or half-truth.

Solas lifted his gaze to meet the Inquisition's spymaster with a little frown. "Qunari."

"Qunari?" Cullen parroted, his jaw dropping. "I don't understand."

"I suspect the Qunari intend to use the eluvians to deploy troops and invade Southern Thedas. Like Corypheus, they would greatly benefit if Orlais fell into chaos." His head turned slightly and for the first time since they'd set foot into the study, Solas met Ellana's eye. "The timing could not have been an accident. The Exalted Council would allow them to kill important leaders from all across Southern Thedas."

"Including me," Ellana murmured as the realization dawned. A little wave of dizziness passed over her but she pushed it aside.

"Especially you," Solas said, his eyes soft with tenderness. His watched her a moment, the tenseness of worry changing for a flash into something darker and unreadable before he tucked his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders as he faced Cullen and Leliana. "I tracked and killed several Qunari warriors on the other side of the eluvian, but there were far too many for me alone to fight and I do not yet know the extent of their plans."

"Amazing what you _have_ learned in just one night," Leliana commented, no longer wearing the coy smile.

"I can hardly take the credit for what I do know," Solas told her with a note of irritation. He looked to Ellana again. "Inquisitor, do you recall the sentinels in the temple of Mythal?"

"Yes…" Ellana answered. "They did not stay at the temple, I take it?"

Solas shook his head. "No, they have served their purpose with the Well of Sorrows now with Morrigan. I met their leader, Abelas, in the Crossroads—the fractured construct where eluvians meet." He paused a moment, his lips pinching into a thin line. "It was Abelas who told me everything I know of the Qunari plot."

"We must destroy the eluvian," Cullen said, thumping one fist against the palm of his other hand, his face set in a snarl that promised violence. "We cannot allow this threat to—"

"I would not recommend that," Solas said with a deep frown of disapproval.

"And why not?" Cullen asked, growling.

"Because then we will lose our only means of properly combating them," Solas countered with a glare. "Their efforts in the Crossroads have allowed them to establish far flung bases around Thedas. That is not the kind of power you allow an enemy to possess, Commander."

"Then you're suggesting we go to war with them?" Ellana asked, arching a brow. As Solas turned his blue-gray eyes back to her, his expression grave, Ellana felt suddenly nauseous. She strode to the long table separating herself and her advisers from Solas and leaned her hands onto the smooth wood, determined not to vomit or let on she was _very_ worried about vomiting. "I can't commit to anything that extreme without more evidence."

"More evidence than my word," Solas added and she dropped her gaze down to her hands on the table, unable to look at him. She hadn't missed the emotion at the fringe of his words, but it wasn't the insult she'd expected. It was softer, reserved.

"Do not mistake me," Ellana said with a short sigh. "I trust your guidance, but you could have been misled. The Qunari offered alliance two years ago through Iron Bull."

"Yes," Solas said, a note of irritation in the single word. "And when we sacrificed their dreadnaught they made Iron Bull Tal-Vashoth. Even had we been allied with them, the Qunari cannot be trusted. They would have betrayed the Inquisition at the first opportunity. They will not rest until they have conquered all of Thedas and enslaved its people under the Qun. That is not a philosophy you can reason with, vhen—" He cut himself off as she looked at him, the half-uttered term of endearment still ringing in the air. He was red-faced, with anger and something akin to desperation visible in the set of his jaw.

"The entire journey here you insisted I should order the Inquisition to disband," Ellana reminded him with a glare. "Now you're begging me to declare war with it."

He withdrew a step, closer to the windows, glancing at Cullen and Leliana. The two humans stared at him, Leliana smiling again as if she found the confrontation amusing while Cullen sneered with disapproval. They hadn't known of Solas' fervent advice to their Inquisitor regarding the Exalted Council before now, but neither showed surprise.

The heated emotion drained from Solas' face, the tension in his body language easing as he visibly regained composure. "I am, yes," he admitted with a nod. "Because the threat is grave."

"I think that's something I should see for myself," Ellana said, pushing off from the table and raising her chin. She willed herself to feel like the leader she was, not the confused elven woman facing off with her lover and the father of her unborn, newly discovered child. "And I'd like to speak with Abelas to hear what else he knows."

Oddly the words seemed to make Solas flinch—or had he just shivered? But the micro-expression was so fleeting she was sure she'd misread it. "Of course," he said. "And there is more you should know."

"More?" Leliana asked and chuckled. "Should we sit down for this one?" Her blue eyes moved to Ellana, shooting her a sympathetic look.

Solas followed the exchange, his brow knitting slightly as he focused on Ellana. "Perhaps. I'm afraid it is not good news."

"It never is," Cullen grumbled.

Solas ignored the commander. "As you know, the Anchor is sensitive to Elvhen magic." His gaze softened with tenderness. "I fear that if you encounter such magic going through the eluvians it will destabilize the Anchor. The consequences could be fatal."

"Fatal?" Ellana repeated, eyes widening.

"How can you possibly know that?" Cullen demanded, losing his temper. "It's been stable for years now."

Solas hadn't stopped staring at Ellana. The pressure of his eyes on her made Ellana squirm, aware of the mark in her hand as well as the weight in her abdomen. Another dizzy spell made her close her eyes, but she hid the action by pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "You stabilized it before," Ellana murmured. "You can't do it again?"

"It was blind luck before," Solas told her, the words as soft as a caress. "The Anchor is far more powerful now. I doubt I would have the strength to bring it under control again."

"I'll ask again," Cullen growled. "How can you be so sure about this?"

"I have seen such magic before," Solas replied coolly. "In the deepest memories of the Fade. And I have felt it again in the Crossroads. The mages of old were far more powerful than any living today. All Elvhen ruins remain charged with their magic. The Anchor will react to it. I am certain." In almost a whisper he said, "Vhenan. I beg you, do not go to the Crossroads. The Qunari must be dealt with, but you do not need to lead the assault. I will go in your stead."

Ellana flexed her left hand, staring into the palm, and sighed. Why had this happened now? How had everything fallen apart so thoroughly? The aching lump in her throat threatened to become tears but she swallowed hard and gritted her teeth together. When had she become such a soft heart?

"This is something to take into consideration, Inquisitor," Leliana said. "You do not need to endanger yourself personally…"

Ellana didn't need to look at her spymaster to know the other woman was subtly referencing her pregnancy. As if Ellana needed to be reminded of what was at stake. The thought made the room spin again and her stomach clench. She needed more ginger and something to eat. _And Mythal's mercy, maybe just a little breeze into this stuffy room!_

"I would also volunteer," Cullen put in. "Should this prove to be a credible threat."

"I assure you, Commander," Solas said with a tone of mild annoyance. "It is most credible." He chuckled, the sound dark and ominous. "I wish it were not."

Still thinking of tea, fresh air, and ginger, Ellana's shoulders slumped. "I can't decide this now." She fanned herself. "I need to see the eluvian and I need time to think. And I need some fresh air."

"And there is the Exalted Council still to consider," Leliana reminded her.

Solas was watching Ellana, a look of concern on his face. Seeing it, Ellana let her hand fall to her side, aware of how strange it must've appeared as the air wasn't especially hot yet and everyone had been telling her how pale she was after all. Solas likely saw it too.

 _I need to tell him,_ she thought, but the idea of it just left her exhausted with so much else happening.

"I need to get back to the summit," Ellana said and groaned.

"Solas," Leliana said. "Perhaps you can escort Commander Cullen and one of my sentries to the eluvian." She nodded in Ellana's direction. "I will walk back with the Inquisitor."

Ellana restrained the frown that tugged on her lips as she read Leliana's intent. _She's splitting us up._ Solas' slight hesitation told Ellana he'd noticed it too. With a quick glance to Ellana he dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Of course." He raised one hand, gesturing at the door. "If you would follow me, Commander."

As soon as the two men had left the room, Leliana crossed to grip Ellana by the arm, her hold firm but gentle. Her bright blue eyes met with Ellana's own deep green. "I am sorry for all this," she said, her smile melancholy. "How are you holding up?"

Ellana laughed humorlessly. "Does _everyone_ know?"

"Word spreads quickly at the palace, but I would have been told regardless," the spymaster said, smirking. "And I would have guessed first if I'd had but a few more days seeing your symptoms…and with fewer distractions of my own."

"Always the Game," Ellana said with a shake of her head.

"Yes," Leliana said and all humor fled from her. She squeezed Ellana's arm. "I hate to tell you this, but Solas is hiding something from us."

The lump in Ellana's throat tightened as she nodded. "I was afraid you'd say that." She sucked in a shaky breath. "And…I suspected it too."

Leliana's jaw clenched, but her eyes stayed soft with sympathy. "He knows far too much for this to be a new development. And I _knew_ about the eluvian in the palace. They keep it locked away in storage and have ever since Morrigan left. She warned them it could prove dangerous."

"So…how did he get into the room?" Ellana finished for the spymaster.

"Exactly." She made a noise of disappointment with her tongue. "What I don't understand is why he's trying to lie to us. He's a brilliant man and he must know I will catch him." She searched Ellana for a moment and then asked, "Have you told him yet?"

"No," Ellana murmured, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I haven't had the chance. The sentries just brought him here from…" She stepped out of Leliana's touch and groaned. "From wherever he was. _Fenedhis,_ why do I always feel like I'm about to vomit?"

Leliana chuckled. "Nerves as much as the little one." Her footsteps thumped lightly over the floor behind Ellana. The spymaster brushed her elbow, guiding her toward the door. "My advice, Inquisitor, is to be cautious. It's clear Solas cares for you, but it has always bothered me how little I could find of him. I had thought that was because there was little to know—but I should not have assumed such. It's always the quiet ones who surprise you, and not always in pleasant ways."

The thought that she couldn't trust her lover of over three years made Ellana choke as pain stabbed through her chest, constricting it. She hesitated with Leliana by the door, breathing deeply.

"I'm sorry," Leliana murmured, her voice as gentle and reassuring, motherly. "Truly, I am. Whatever he's hiding will come out, and I think he knows that."

"Should I confront him?" Ellana asked. "Reveal that we know the eluvian was locked away?"

Instead of answering her question, Leliana motioned back toward the windows where Solas had stood. "The way he lingered there before speaking—perhaps I imagined it, but I feared he would flee. I doubt he would get far, but I would not confront him before you have exposed your own secret first. His reaction could be most telling."

 _I feared he would flee._ The words pounded on the inside of Ellana's skull, robbing her of breath for a second before she managed to snort, finding humor in Leliana's advice. "I'd best hurry then since everyone seems to know about it."

"That would be best," Leliana agreed, opening the door for Ellana. "Because as usual, you are the talk of the winter palace just as you were during the winter ball."

Ellana could only groan and curse herself for confiding in Sera for the thousandth time that morning.

_________________________________________

Lanya found him in the same alley as yesterday. She balanced a tray of used glasses on one shoulder. Sweat lined her brow and her black hair was matted with it at the temples. She didn't look happy.

"Can I bring you something, sir?" she asked despite the fact her tray was clearly for returning dirty glassware.

"Information," Solas replied under his breath, leaning closer to her.

"Gaatlock barrels have been brought into the palace," Lanya told him, hissing through her teeth. "On Inquisition manifests."

"Fenedhis," Solas cursed, turning his head to glare into the corridor and the tavern beyond. Lanya stayed next to him, watching and waiting but silent as he weighed his options. Finally Solas looked back to her. "Have one of the shem-elves from the palace move it close to the tavern and subtly direct Iron Bull's attention to it."

"Fen'Harel enansal," Lanya said and dipped her head to him before hurrying away.

The warm, humid midday sun beat down on him, heavy as he stared unseeingly at the opposite wall of the alleyway. He rubbed at his neck, feeling the accumulating sweat, and letting his thoughts return repeatedly to the conversation in the study. He knew Leliana would poke holes in his story. It had too many variables he couldn't control because he hadn't had time to plot it out properly. Leliana had only to unravel a few and the entire structure of his lie would crumble.

He knew the spymaster had deliberately sent him away on a meaningless errand with Cullen so that she could speak in private with Ellana. Even Cullen seemed to see through it as he'd barely spent any time in the storage room with the eluvian. The sneer of instinctual fear on Cullen's face as he glared at the mirror had made Solas feel his literal age—a couple thousand. Cullen saw the eluvian as nothing but an evil threat and would've smashed it without a second thought. As a Templar and an Andrastian, he'd been raised to fear magic and the Fade from birth. As much as Solas resented that viewpoint, he knew he had no one but himself to blame for it and Cullen was a good man, for a human and a Templar at least.

And that was how Solas now found himself lingering in the courtyard, sweating under the noonday sun, itching to act and yet hampered by his subordinate position and subterfuge. Initially he'd intended to divulge far more to Ellana and her advisors, but after being apprehended and escorted to her almost like a prisoner…wariness got the better of him, to his shame.

Feeling thirsty and overheated, Solas left the alley and walked into the tavern. The crowd was lively, despite it being early for drinking and merriment. Nobles and commoners alike crowded the few tables and booths, but fortunately neither Iron Bull or Sera appeared to have taken up residence there yet to waylay him. He had no interest in drinking alcohol, but he procured a cheap mug from behind the bar and poured water from a glass pitcher.

As he drank, Solas felt the other patrons watching him, both covert and obvious. A niggling worry churned in the back of his mind as he pretended to take no notice. Something had happened yesterday or overnight to change the mood of everyone at Halamshiral, and it'd made the entire populace _see_ him.

But then again, perhaps it was merely his imagination.

Downing his first mug of water, Solas took another when suddenly he heard a familiar female voice call out behind him. "Hey you, droopy ears!"

Restraining the desire to roll his eyes, Solas set his mug down on the bar and turned to regard Sera, one eyebrow raised. The elf girl wove her way through the crowded tavern and sat on the stool next to him. There was an unusually hard glint in her brown eyes as she flashed her lopsided grin at him. "Drinking already?" she asked. "You shite bastard."

Solas sighed, his patience stretching thin. "It is water. Perhaps you had not noticed, but the day has grown quite hot."

"Maybe for you," she said and giggled. She plucked at his gray robes and curled her lip with distaste. "I should stick you with an arrow, leaving the Herald alone. Right out of her mind, she was. All worried." She leaned closer, wrinkling her nose. "Right. So, where'd you go?"

"That is none of your concern," Solas answered, taking another swallow of his water.

"That bad?" Sera whistled. "I hope she lets me pie you."

"Excuse me?" Solas asked, shooting her a glare. He recalled the banter between the ambassador and Ellana regarding a servant throwing pies at Arl Teagan. Was that what had happened to so upset the palace?

"Stop with the questions," Sera said, scoffing as the anger in her eyes flared up. "Like you don't know shite. Yeah? You don't fool anyone, you twat."

"I can see the last two years have not dulled your charm," Solas told her, his voice dry and sarcastic. "Tell me, how have your dreams been lately? Perhaps you might enjoy discussing the extraordinary experience of walking physically through the Fade at Adamant Fortress?"

"Piss off," Sera snarled and leapt from her stool, storming away. She threw a last taunt at him, shouting from the tavern entrance loud enough that the others inside would hear her: "Daddy droopy ears!"

Solas made a face at the comment, baffled. Her slang had often confused him and she'd been surprisingly volatile during this encounter, as if he'd done something to offend her other than being absent the previous night. The rest of the tavern goers pretended to ignore the exchange, but Solas didn't miss the quick looks cast in his direction—far more than before.

 _Daddy droopy ears?_ Was that her less than clever way of calling him old? Odd.

Finishing his water, Solas left the mug on a servant's tray full of dirty glasses and exited the tavern. He knew where one of his Inquisition spies was stationed in guard rotations in the palace gardens and planned to cross paths with him to confirm Lanya's tip about the gaatlock. He passed Thom Rainier practicing throwing knives in one corner of the courtyard and made a wide circle around the Warden, unwilling to stop and chat with a man who, like himself, had multiple identities and a shameful past. But as he entered the gardens he heard another familiar voice and grimaced as Dorian hurried to catch up with him.

"Solas," the other mage greeted him with a mischievous grin and then, as he sidled up to Solas, he wrapped one arm over his shoulders as if they were the best of friends. Solas stiffened and glared his disapproval but the other man ignored his silent protest. "I've been looking for you all morning," he said. "You sly dog. Where did you run off to yesterday?"

"I'd rather not discuss it," Solas said and twisted, ducking out of Dorian's one-armed embrace. "If you please, I have somewhere I need to—"

"Oh, no you don't," Dorian said, wagging a finger at him as if Solas was nothing but a disobedient child or underling. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me when you're going to do right by the old girl and _marry_ her."

Solas paused, blinking a moment before shaking his head. "We've already discussed this, Tevinter. I have nothing more to say on it. There are more pressing matters that require—"

Dorian interrupted him with an angry scoff and a wave of one hand. "I'm sorry, did you just try to brush off your responsibility to Ellana?" The icy tone of his words did nothing to hide the mottled blush of rage that spread over his face. "Because I may have to hit you if you did. I always thought you more respectable than this."

"I do not particularly care what you think of me," Solas snapped, losing his temper. They glowered at each other and Solas didn't miss the charge of hostile magic in the air, though he wasn't sure how much of it was his own and how much belonged to Dorian. He was about to turn away and leave when Dorian's head tilted to one side and the rage in his expression warped with something unreadable.

"I think we may have misunderstood each other," he said with a shake of his head. "Because I cannot believe you would turn your back on the old girl after three years with her."

Solas scowled. "Do not call Ellana that." The nickname always made him bristle with its casual familiarity and mild rudeness, reducing Ellana to some diminutive thing when she had always been so much more than her physical nature to Solas.

Dorian motioned to him with a smug smile now. "There, see? That's more like your usual stubborn propriety." He edged closer, dropping his voice and failing, or choosing not to notice that Solas recoiled as if he had bad breath. "Let's start over, shall we?"

"I'd much rather continue this at a later time," Solas protested, looking over his shoulder toward the gardens. In truth he had plenty of time, but he didn't want to spend any of it dealing with Dorian and his bizarre quest to force he and Ellana into matrimony.

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Dorian answered, teasing his mustache with one hand for a moment as he grinned. "Now, you simply must tell me. Are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?" Solas asked, terse and unconcerned.

Dorian, oddly, froze at Solas' innocent question. Staring at Solas, his lips pinched and his eyes narrowed, he was speechless for several long heartbeats. Finally he let out a quick, high-pitched guffaw. "You haven't heard?"

"I was indisposed," Solas lied, his brow furrowing as curiosity got the better of him. "I heard something about Sera pranking the nobility last night. Is that what you mean?"

Dorian threw his head back and laughed, eyes closed and shoulders heaving. "You _really_ don't know!"

Solas' skin prickled with irritation. He cleared his throat, struggling to maintain composure. "No, as I said, I was indisposed."

"Indisposed," Dorian repeated almost mockingly, laughing. "Indeed. Well, since you haven't yet heard, I won't be the one to break the news to you."

Feeling his face afire with humiliation, Solas glared. "Then I have nothing further to say to you." He pivoted and stalked away, unable to keep his tread from thumping with his anger. What had he missed while he was away? It seemed his instincts had been right the first time that whatever it was it _had_ involved him, somehow.

 _It doesn't matter,_ he consoled himself once he was out of Dorian's sight in the garden. He stopped beside a potted plant and felt absently over its waxy green leaves. Most of the scenarios for his current plot ended badly for himself and Ellana. She might never forgive him and he'd lose her love. The Anchor could destabilize and kill her, or if it didn't and he managed to save her life but not her arm, she could blame him for that loss _and_ his betrayal.

Remembering his moment in the study, staring out the windows, Solas shuddered and closed his eyes. He'd feared attack when he revealed who and what he truly was, despite how well he knew Ellana. He'd seen people he usually considered levelheaded, critical thinkers react very poorly when faced with betrayal of far smaller magnitudes than his own. It could still happen that he'd emerge out of this situation having lost Ellana and any hope of alliance, honest or otherwise.

If it came down to it, could Solas disappear into the eluvians and leave Ellana behind for good? His lieutenants would approve such an action, as would Fen'Harel and his greater purpose. But Solas the individual was weak and the thought of losing Ellana to death or his own misdeeds made him feel as though icy hands clutched at his neck, robbing the air from his lungs.

Plucking the leaf and watching it fall, Solas sighed. Then he rubbed his face, as if he could scrub away these foreboding, gloomy thoughts. _Let's hope it doesn't come to that._

___________________________________

Needless to say, my dumb self finally figured out rich text preserves the italics. Derp. 

I am a bit unique, I think, in my read of Solas. Seems like everyone thinks he's immortal. He may well be immortal in Bioware canon, and obviously he was before his long sleep and during it, but when I look at his actions in Inquisition I see a man who is pressed for time. If he's still immortal, his choice to let Corypheus unlock the orb rather than just sit and bide his time as he grew stronger, is truly awful and dumb. But if he's woken up now mortal like all the other elves...suddenly we have a man who has NEVER known mortal aging seeing every day that passes as a lost chance to right the terrible wrongs of his past, with so little time left to achieve his goals. How could he NOT make awful choices then simply by virtue of being short on time?

I also see support for this in "The Masked Empire" as Felassan, another elf who likely survived Elvhenan, wasn't described as not aging. He was an older man and Briala had known him for 20+ years. Yet she never mentions her mentor seeming ageless, at least not that I saw. My other reason for casting Solas as mortal now is his biggest fear in the Fade at Adamant. "Dying Alone." We read it and get all emotional about this scholarly, lonely dude, angsty and troubled. But we don't think about the Dying part of his fear. No one else had "Dying" as part of their fear. I take that to mean everyone else, born mortal, knows death is coming and accepts it as part of existence. But here's Solas, newly mortal for the first time, and so his fear includes death.

Anyway, like I said in my profile, I think way too much about the egghead. But I thought I'd discuss that if it wasn't obvious in my fic that I cast Solas as mortal and I have given it a lot of thought to come to that conclusion. Of course, probably I'm all wrong and Bioware will be like, "Nope! Dude's totally immortal still and all your reasoning about his life choices is wrong. Turns out Solas just is that much of a careless dipshit like, sure, giving a darkspawn magister who wants to be a god my Orb of Doom sounds like a GREAT idea."

**Next Chapter teaser:**

"So…uh, sorry to hear you were, ah, out of the loop yesterday." Varric clapped his hands together, rubbing them and looking away for a moment before his expression brightened. "Have you tried talking with Sera?"

"One does not talk with Sera as much as listen with only a vague hope of understanding every other word," Solas replied with a quick shake of his head.

"You're saying you _did_ talk to her?" Varric asked, cocking his head to one side quizzically.

"She insulted me a few times and left," Solas explained, wiping at his forehead again. "I had hoped you would be more coherent."


	6. Solas Doesn't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana decides to take a risk and visit the Crossroads personally. Solas continues chasing down that elusive palace rumor. Wall-to-wall jokes. Featuring Iron Bull and Dorian banter, plus some well-timed vomit.

"One thing I've always wondered," Iron Bull said as he clipped on his armored shoulder guard and tugged it into place. "Are you elves born with those pointy ears or do they grow in?"

"Is that a serious question?" Ellana asked, unsure whether to laugh at him or frown. She wriggled her bare toes, adjusting the chainmail leggings of her Dalish hunter armor. Was it her imagination or did it already feel a tad snug around her midsection? The extra weight of the armor already made her breasts ache. She rose to her feet, stretching with a groan.

"Of course," Iron Bull said and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Why wouldn't it be?" He grabbed his two-handed great-axe and hefted it over his shoulder, surveying the storage room with his single blue eye.

"Why are you wondering about this now?" she asked, hands on her hips. The eluvian gleamed a cerulean blue behind her, glinting from Iron Bull's armor.

He grinned. "I think you know why, Boss."

"No," Ellana retorted, keeping her expression as neutral and unreadable as she could. "I really don't."

"I'm just curious," he said and laughed. "I've never seen an elven _imekari_ before."

Ellana didn't bother asking for a translation of his Qunlat—she usually regretted it when she did. Busying herself with examining her bow, she tried to be nonchalant and shrugged in answer to his question. "We're born with them." _Distraction, deflection, humor._ "What about you Qunari? I assume your horns must grow in, but are your ears pointed from birth?"

Iron Bull snorted. "Yeah, but our ears are soft. I've bumped into Dalish by accident in a fight and her ears are like knifepoints." He hesitated a moment and then raised one meaty hand to gesture apologetically. "Uh, I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," she said, pushing aside the desire to ask _who_ had told him about her pregnancy, but that would break Josephine's cardinal rule not to confirm it. So instead she slung her bow over her shoulder and looked to the closed door of the storage room. "What do you think is keeping Cassandra and Blac—" She cut herself off, correcting the mistake. "Rainier."

"Cassandra is probably still changing her clothes," Iron Bull said. "And Rainier has that beard to take care of." He followed her gaze to the door. "Shouldn't we bring Solas?"

Ellana pretended to be absorbed with her finger guards on her drawing hand to avoid looking at Iron Bull. "He's busy elsewhere."

Iron Bull snorted. "Boss, you gotta learn to lie better. He's going to be mad as a high dragon whose hatchlings have been slaughtered when he hears you did something like this without him."

_Yes,_ she thought and withheld a sigh. _He will be furious._ Her heart ached as if burning hands had hold of it and were squeezing. Sniffing, she checked the leather straps on her armor for the third time to stay busy and prevent herself from thinking about what she was about to do.

The door opened then, finally, and Cassandra strode in with Rainier and Dorian at her heels. The brilliant gold of the Divine's armor stole Ellana's breath. "Cassandra," she said, eyes widening even further as she took in the oblong crescent of her helmet that made her look as though her head was the yolk of a gold metallic egg. "Wow—I see they couldn't let you wear a practical hat even in armor."

"You know you'll have to get that armor dirty, right?" Iron Bull asked.

"Enough," Cassandra grumbled. "I understand it is ridiculous, but my attendants refused to listen."

"Since when have you cared what other people think?" Rainier asked, chuckling. He cleared his throat as Cassandra glared at him, adding, "Pardon me, your holiness." His own armor, the shining blue-gray of a true Warden, glimmered even in the low light of the storage room. The griffon emblazoned on the front gleamed like water in the sun.

"I have always cared about tradition," Cassandra reminded him. "And the armor is strong, even if it will draw enemy fire like a beacon."

"Not to mention blind them," Dorian quipped, earning another of Cassandra's potent glares. "No, seriously. I applaud the strategy. It's genius."

"Inquisitor," Cassandra said, her brown eyes landing on Ellana and her lips quirking in an uncomfortable half-frown. "I must ask you—are you certain you wish to do this?" Her gaze kept dropping lower on Ellana's body. "Leliana briefed me…on _all_ of it."

Ellana felt her cheeks catch fire at Cassandra's pathetic attempt to be tactful. She shot quick, covert glances at the others and felt her shoulders slouch as she saw Dorian's knowing smirk and Rainier's sudden intense interest in his own boots. _Fen'Harel's balls, everyone really_ does _know._ She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Yes, I'm sure I want to do this, Cassandra."

Cassandra shuffled from foot to foot, chewing a corner of her lip for a moment. "Shouldn't we bring Solas as well?"

"You said Leliana briefed you," Ellana reminded her, making a face. "That should have included that Solas isn't being truthful with us. I want to see the Crossroads and the situation with the Qunari personally."

Cassandra nodded, but she didn't look any happier. "I understand, Inquisitor, but surely we should at least let him know…" She blinked then, her cheeks reddening as she stammered to clarify her words. "About this expedition, I mean. Not—anything else."

Dorian burst out laughing from behind her, doubling over. Iron Bull had begun chuckling in his deep-throated voice as well, grinning in the Tevinter's direction.

"I don't see what is so funny," Ellana said, glaring. Her heart pounded in her ears as she struggled to keep her own reaction cold and unaffected—as if she truly didn't understand. Her lips kept twitching, her chin wrinkling as her inner emotions swung between humiliation, awkwardness, horror, along with the desire to just give in and laugh with them at the painful obviousness of Cassandra's explanation.

"I'll tell you what's so funny," Dorian said, gasping as he began to recover. "You see—I just spoke with Solas a few minutes ago and he doesn't know. Isn't that delightfully ironic, considering he knows _everything?_ "

Cassandra growled. "Show some respect, Tevinter."

"Enough," Ellana snapped, raising both hands up, palms outward in a motion commanding them to be silent. "Can we just get to the Crossroads and get back before Arl Teagan declares war on us for ordering the extended recess?"

"I wanted to strangle that man with my bare hands," Cassandra said, snarling.

"You could throw pies at him like the Inquisitor did," Rainier suggested with a laugh.

"How do you—" Ellana shook her head, cutting herself off. "Never mind." _Sera, of course._ She pointed to the eluvian. "I'm going through that damned mirror even if I have to do it alone. Are you all going to join me or stand around here giggling like children?"

"I rather thought my laughter to be decidedly charming and rather manly," Dorian quipped, stroking his mustache with one finger as he grinned in response to her glare.

"I like it," Iron Bull said, waggling an eyebrow.

"See? My point exactly," Dorian said, smirking.

"Oh for—would you two get a room already?" Ellana scolded them. As Dorian laughed again she turned to the mirror and walked toward it, one hand outstretched. The sound of armor clanking and thumping footsteps followed her, letting her sigh with relief that the embarrassing conversation was over. _Elgar'nan's breath, I can't put off telling Solas any longer._

She pushed her right hand through the mirror, feeling its cold magic send a chill over her. _As soon as I've seen the Crossroads for myself,_ she promised. _Then I'll tell him._

_____________________________________________

"Have you _seen_ Commander Cullen?" the noblewoman with the muffled voice asked, and Solas could picture her lips hidden behind a ridiculously high collar. "Who _wouldn't_ want to bed him? Can you really blame the Inquisitor?"

Solas kept his expression neutral as he lingered in the shade of the garden wall, eavesdropping on a group of chatty Orlesian women standing just around the corner. He wiped sweat off his brow and then his head with one sleeve, frowning to himself and longing for a bath. So far he'd heard the women bounce between broad and often unrelated topics, usually inane and useless to him, but he knew they'd recognized him earlier when he strolled by and had hoped to overhear something valuable by lingering just around the corner from them.

"Did you hear Madame de Fer say our dear lady Inquisitor was faint during a trip to the spas?" asked the noblewoman with a higher-pitched, more youthful voice. She giggled, the sound grating on Solas' ears.

"Of course I've heard," the woman with the oldest voice replied, sounding irritable. "And it explains why the Inquisition's commander has refused every marriage proposal for the last three years!"

Solas scoffed under his breath, fast losing interest. Why had he decided this was a good idea? But he already knew the answer: because his Inquisition spy claimed he knew nothing about any rumors floating around the palace. And Solas knew he was _lying._

The spy, an Elvhen man named Var, had once served in Solas' forces as a mage but had awoken from uthenera unable to access the Fade, much to his horror and shame. Solas had reassured him, encouraging him to join the Inquisition as a "city elf" recruit so they could train him as a rogue and overcome his newfound inability to cast magic. Var had recovered in the two years since joining the Inquisition and Solas hadn't doubted his loyalty previously—destroying the Veil was the only way for him to feel the bliss of touching the Fade and casting again—but he'd been twitchy and vague when Solas questioned him about palace rumor. The reaction suggested Var _did_ know something, but he wouldn't repeat it despite Solas' urging.

That left Solas standing about sweating, trying to overhear whatever it was Var wouldn't tell him and wondering if he'd have to confront the spy about his loyalties. Both tasks were distasteful and left Solas with what felt like a permanent scowl.

Admitting defeat for the moment, Solas left the garden wall, searching for a better group to eavesdrop on. He crossed into the open space of the courtyard and saw Varric beside the fountain with his advisor. Instead of skirting around them Solas made straight toward them.

"Chuckles!" the dwarf greeted him, throwing his arms out wide in a gesture of welcome. "So good to finally run across you! The Inquisitor was looking for you yesterday and I heard you were…away?" He shrugged. "No matter. Good to see you're back."

"Hello," the advisor greeted Solas with a nod. "I'm Bran Cavin. You're Solas? The Inquisition's Fade expert?"

"Don't get him started on the Fade," Varric warned with a laugh. "He'll talk your ear off."

Solas struggled to quash the impatience pressing on him from within as he smiled at Bran. "I am indeed Inquisitor Lavellan's Fade expert." He barely paused before switching his attention back to Varric. "I was indisposed yesterday, but I am much recovered now." His mind churned, searching for a subtle way to draw out gossip from the human and the dwarf without getting bogged down in pleasantries. But he came up blank. Best to be blunt, then. "I haven't been able to catch up much with the Inquisitor today. What did I miss?"

Bran raised a finger, as if to interject something, but what he said was, "I'll let you two catch up." He whipped around and strode off to stand awkwardly by himself, still within sight and earshot.

Solas restrained a frown of irritation before Varric let out a dry laugh that turned into a groan. "So…uh, sorry to hear you were, ah, out of the loop yesterday." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them and looking away for a moment before his expression brightened. "Have you tried talking with Sera?"

"One does not talk with Sera as much as listen with only a vague hope of understanding every other word," Solas replied with a quick shake of his head.

"You're saying you _did_ talk to her?" Varric asked, cocking his head to one side quizzically.

"She insulted me a few times and left," Solas explained, wiping at his forehead again. "I had hoped you would be more coherent."

"Coherent, yes," Varric said with an uncomfortable smirk. "But…" He sighed, giving an exaggerated shrug. "Look. Not a lot happened yesterday, but people are talking. All I know is Ellana was looking for you and couldn't find you." He smirked, his smile lopsided. "I'm not a relationship expert by any means, Chuckles, but if you have a question about the Inquisitor and…whatever happened yesterday…I'd suggest you try asking _her_ about it. Not me."

Solas let out a little breath of barely restrained frustration. "I suppose you are right. Unfortunately the Inquisitor is preoccupied with the Exalted Council at the moment."

Varric's expression brightened with humor. "Actually you're in luck, Chuckles. A servant came by and told Bran and I about an hour ago that the summit has been placed in recess for the rest of the day."

The news hit Solas like a saarebas' fireball. He flinched and immediately looked toward the stairs and the palace. "The summit has been adjourned…?"

_She didn't tell me, didn't send for me._

"Yeah," Varric said, a note of concern entering his voice. "Rumor is the Inquisitor hasn't been feeling the greatest. What that means is anyone's guess." He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, awkward and shuffling as he avoided Solas' gaze.

"Please excuse me," Solas said and strode quickly away. He didn't miss Varric's weak muttered curse behind him: "Ah, shit."

As he made his way up the stairs a few of the comments he'd heard replayed in his mind until he found himself with the permanent frown on his face again. _Our dear lady Inquisitor was faint during a trip to the spas,_ the noblewoman had said. Varric's voice followed: _The Inquisitor hasn't been feeling the greatest._ The memory of Ellana standing in the study, fanning herself and looking as though she might gag at any moment kept flashing against his eyelids whenever he blinked. Could she have been poisoned by Qunari spies?

The guards at the gate admitted him with no trouble, nodding at the sight of his armband. Solas made his way at a swift, determined pace with his head up and his eyes narrowed, navigating confidently through the palace halls. Servants stepped out of his way and cast him nervous stares that he ignored. He saw three of his own spies—two from the palace and one with the Inquisition—gawp for a second before turning away as though they didn't recognize him either as Solas or Fen'Harel.

The door to the storage room holding the eluvian now had three Orlesian guards stationed there. They stiffened at the sight of him, their mouths tightening below their gilded masks. "I'm sorry, sir," said one of them, most likely the highest ranked. "You're not allowed here. Please move along."

"I must speak with the Inquisitor," Solas said, his voice firm and gruff.

"Inquisitor Lavellan isn't here," the guard replied. "I'd suggest you check the guest wing of the palace."

Solas hesitated, scrutinizing the men and weighing his options before his shoulders hunched slightly, resigning himself to searching elsewhere first. He _wanted_ to be wrong. But as he pivoted and strode back down the hall, rounding the corner to be out of sight, the knot of anxiety in his stomach seemed to grow tighter with every heartbeat. Away from the guards but still within earshot, Solas leaned against the wall and covered his face with both hands, struggling to think through the anguish churning inside.

_She would not go through the mirror without me…_

"Who was that bald rabbit?" one of the guards asked in a gravelly voice.

"Didn't you know? That's the Inquisitor's Fade expert and jilted lover," another man with a pompous, nasally voice replied, laughing.

"Really?" asked the leader, who'd spoken to Solas. "That Inquisitor is a beautiful woman, for a rabbit anyway. Why would she bed someone obsessed with the Fade?" He let out a grunting laugh. "No wonder she turned him away."

Gravel-voice put in, "They say she walked in the Fade, physically. _Twice!"_

"So maybe she was obsessed with the Fade too?" Nasal-voice suggested.

"She must've woken up one day and realized he was too busy jerking it in the Fade to satisfy her," the leader said, guffawing.

Solas snarled to himself, hands clenching into fists. _Clueless, barbaric shem fools._ On silent feet, despite the rage roaring inside him, Solas stalked away for the guest wing, blind to the gold trim walls and ivory paneling and deaf to the whispering he heard from the occasional group of guards or nobles lingering in wider passageways.

_________________________________________

The light in the Crossroads stung Ellana's eyes and left her stomach loopy. She kept trying to see the light source, instinct making her check the time of day, but this wasn't reality as she knew it. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she regretted not bringing Solas. At least then they'd know they weren't going to get lost in this place.

An hour had passed since she and the others entered through the Halamshiral eluvian and found a vertigo-inducing sight of islands made of black rock that floated on air. They had crossed over a rock bridge to the next closest island and discovered an active eluvian waiting on it beneath a rocky overhang. After some bickering they chose not to enter it and instead explored around the new island and found a second eluvian hidden around a corner and up a small trail through the black rock.

They'd returned to the front of the new island, instinctually staying close to the bridge that led back to the Halamshiral eluvian. Ellana kept squinting against the light, searching the distance for anything remarkable at all and finding nothing except more of the fractured, nauseating light.

"There's nowhere else to go," Rainier said for the hundredth time. "One of the mirrors on this rock must connect to another somewhere across the gap." He pointed toward the island in the distance where they could see the blue glow of another active eluvian.

"Or not," Dorian countered, the fingers of one hand resting on his chin as he considered their position. "You could step out and find yourself falling into the bottomless pit. I don't think this place is big on following the laws of nature, and I don't want to find out if falling to my death is still a thing here."

"We must be missing something," Cassandra said with a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. Her gaze landed on Ellana. "Do you have any ideas at all? "

"I've never been to this part of the Crossroads," Ellana admitted with a helpless shrug. "The part Morrigan took me to was like a courtyard full of mirrors, nothing like this mess."

"Solas would've known," Iron Bull put in, daring to speak aloud what Ellana knew they were all thinking.

"Yes," Ellana admitted aloud, frowning with disapproval. "But I wanted to see for myself if it was as bad as he claimed."

"If the Qunari are here somewhere, it's inside the mirrors," Rainier said. "And the truth is we don't know which are safe to enter—but I'd be happy to volunteer to be the first to try it out."

"Thank you, Thom," Ellana said with a warm smile. "I appreciate the offer but I'd rather not risk anyone's life on hunches right now. I had hoped we'd encounter the sentinel elves Solas said he met, particularly their leader, Abelas."

"Let's hope they don't see me first and attack us," Iron Bull said with a dry chuckle.

"We're doomed then," Dorian said, smirking. "Because you're a _giant_. With horns. Of course they'll see you first."

"You like the horns," Iron Bull said, his grin mischievous. "Everyone does. Gives you something to hold onto when—"

"I've heard quite enough of that," Cassandra interjected in a loud voice, her lip curling in disgust. "We must deal with the problem at hand."

Dorian sniggered, mumbling under his breath. "…at hand."

Cassandra glared at him, making a disgusted noise. "Ugh." Something glinted in her ridiculously gold, shiny armor, drawing Ellana's gaze away from the group and toward the island across from them.

Two bipedal shapes emerged from the mirror in rapid succession and sprinted toward the edge of the distant island. Gasping, Ellana pointed. "Look!"

They watched, wide-eyed, as the first two figures blurred in a snowy white streak, flowing across the gap to reach another island parallel to the one Ellana and her companions were on. More warriors, this time they were distinctly Qunari, spilled out of the mirror, rushing after the first two but halting at the edge of the island. Ellana saw them hesitate and then a green glow issued from the edge of the rock. The Qunari charged forward and the green glow spread with them, forming a rock bridge.

"I'll be damned," Dorian said with a whistle. "That's a mite impressive."

Iron Bull muttered something in Qunlat that might've been praise or a curse, it was impossible to tell. Rainier and Cassandra stayed silent, their eyes following the distant chase across the void. The Qunari moved quickly but had to stop at every ledge, doing something to unlock the rock bridges. The first two figures had long since vanished by streaking across the gaps almost unceasingly.

"Were those elves?" Cassandra asked Ellana, arching her brow.

"I think so," she answered with a nod. "Elven mages."

"They were Fade stepping," Dorian explained, his brown eyes still wide with astonishment. "At least, I think they were. It's a simple enough trick and useful for dodging in a fight, but I've never seen it used to leap bottomless pits before."

"Could you do it?" Rainier asked, unable to hide the doubtful tone of the question.

Dorian scoffed. "In the real world? I've been doing it since I was a child. We used to play games with it. First one to drop out gets his ass kicked and his nose bloodied, that sort of thing. But the stakes are a little higher here, as it were."

"Let's not try anything until we're sure it works for…" Ellana hesitated, catching herself before she used a slur for non-elves, humans in particular. "…everyone." They'd already established in their first few minutes in the Crossroads that for some unknown reason the light appeared different to Ellana here than it did to Iron Bull or the humans. The Crossroads had been created by elves for elven use and apparently that granted perks. Perhaps enhanced Fade stepping was one of them.

Dorian nodded. "Naturally."

The sound of shouting and war cries echoed from somewhere out of sight of their current vantage point and Ellana shuddered. Had the Qunari pursuers caught up to their prey, or had the elves setup an ambush? Was there a way for the fighting to reach them? And how were the Qunari manipulating the stone bridges between the islands?

She sighed, knowing she couldn't put it off any longer. They needed Solas. He would have all the answers to these questions and probably hours of additional extraneous knowledge. Her chest tightened with anxiety, anticipating that not only would Solas be furious with her for going alone, but she'd also floor him with the news of her pregnancy. The realization hit her like a slap across the cheeks that she had no idea how he would react to her news. They'd never discussed becoming lifelong partners or having children and although she routinely shared stories of her childhood with her clan, Solas never had anything similar to add. He'd always listened, laughing or consoling her as needed, but it was as if he'd fallen out of the Fade fully grown with no parents, no family life to speak of.

Leliana's comment rang through her mind again: _It's always the quiet ones who surprise you, and not always in pleasant ways._

"I think we should return to the palace," she announced with a resigned sigh. "We need Solas to—"

The eluvian ahead of them on the island made a humming sound and flared bright as a lean figure wearing silver armor spilled out of it, scrambling forward and then flailing as it reacted to the Inquisitor's group. Ellana recognized the bright armor and caught the dark lines of gray-black vallaslin on the elf's forehead. Hoping to prevent him from attacking in confusion, she shouted, "Mythal'enaste!"

Another figure burst through the eluvian, landing with equal grace but stopping more quickly than the first elf. This one wore lighter armor and carried daggers on her back, but she too had Mythal's vallaslin on her forehead. Seeing Ellana's group she did a double take, her eyes wide.

"Where's Fen'Harel?" the male elf asked, shouting.

"Who?" Iron Bull called back.

Ellana shook her head, frowning at the bizarre question. Had this sentinel been smacked on the head? Was it maybe some kind of code to see if they were friend or foe?

The rogue yelled, "Qunari are behind us! Will you fight them?"

_That_ was a question they could answer.

Ellana drew her bow, briefly checking on her companions to see they'd drawn their weapons as well. "We will fight," she answered. "How many—"

Before she could finish the eluvian hummed again, glowing brighter as two Qunari warriors in full armor charged out of the mirror, their weapons already drawn. They shouted war cries and ran headlong toward the two sentinels, not even noticing Ellana's party until Iron Bull charged at them with a roar, swinging his great-axe. Ellana drew her bow and put an arrow through the nearest Qunari's throat.

Two more Qunari rushed out of the eluvian and these stumbled as they registered the Inquisition forces. Their surprise gave Cassandra and Rainier the advantage as they pressed forward with shield bashes and hacked at the horned warriors with their blades. Ellana edged closer to Dorian and fired again, dropping another Qunari as he emerged through the mirror.

"Just like old times, isn't it?" she shouted to him over the fray. She felt her skin tingle as he cast a fireball and launched it at the Qunari about to throw his spear at Iron Bull's blind side.

"Yes, but with a lot more Qunari," Dorian replied, gritting his teeth as he cast a barrier over them both.

A Qunari with different armor came through the eluvian then and Iron Bull shouted at the sight of him, pointing. "Saarebas! Mage!"

"A lot more Qunari indeed," Ellana grumbled.

______________________________________

At the broad doors that marked the entrance to the guest wing, Inquisition and Orlesian guards allowed Solas through with a casual nod, acknowledging his armband. Solas passed endless doorways, most of them closed. The occasional arched floor to ceiling window showed him the courtyard outside, bathed in late afternoon sunshine and full of the nobility sipping wine and champagne as spies masquerading as servants flitted between them. After walking the full length of the guest wing he found it was mostly empty, though somewhere in the distance Solas could make out the moans of a couple having sex. With most of the doors closed he had no way of knowing where Ellana's room was.

With the anxious knot inside him feeling like a fist against his lungs, Solas returned to the guards at the entrance. He paused just out of sight of them, straining his ears to listen as they chatted together to pass the time, hoping to solidify or destroy his own growing fears.

"Divine Victoria went with them?" one of the Orlesian guards asked.

"Yes," said the Inquisition woman. "Decked out in her full armor!"

"Fenedhis," Solas cursed, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as the knot inside him pounded against his stomach. Dread and rage made it hard to breathe, like invisible hands choking him from within. After a few ragged breaths he opened his eyes and was about to round the corner when his skin prickled and he twisted at the waist to see Cole standing behind him.

"You're hurting," Cole said, his eyes unfocused. "Aching, torn, lost. How could she go? I begged her not to."

Solas kept his voice low as he replied, "I do not have time to talk right now, Cole."

"She thought the same," Cole said, his voice and gaze drifting off as he went on, slipping deeper into his spirit self, clearly quoting another person. "'Have you told him yet?' 'No, I haven't had the chance. The sentries just brought him…Fenedhis, why do I always feel like I'm about to vomit?'"

The elven curse made Solas hesitate, watching Cole. "Can you tell me about Ellana?" he asked, barely whispering the question.

Cole closed his eyes a moment and then said in a rush, "Ginger with tea, sharp, spicy, delicious. Where is Solas? I have to tell him. Where could he have gone? Whispers all around me, eyes following me. Does everyone know? The Dread Wolf take me and my big mouth."

He flinched at the Dalish curse, shaking his head, but he had little doubt now that Cole was in fact channeling Ellana. How many other Dalish elves were in the winter palace wondering where Solas had gone?

"Has she gone through the eluvian?' he asked, edging closer to Cole. "Cole, please…"

"Cerulean glow," Cole said, his voice soft as his eyes opened again. "Feels cold like water, prickling like magic as I put my hand through the glass…" He let out a little gasp and asked, "Am I…helping?"

"Yes," Solas said, his heart pounding against his throat. "But I must ask you for another favor that will help me a great deal more. Will you follow me?"

"Yes?" Cole said, though he phrased it as a question, as though he wasn't sure.

Solas rounded the corner and headed for the guards at the entrance to the guest wing. Cole followed him—though he was soundless, Solas could sense the spirit boy close behind him. The guards admitted him with nods, unconcerned by him. Their gazes slid off Cole, failing to take note of the spirit.

"Lower back aching," Cole said in a hushed voice as he took up a position at Solas' side. "Feet hurting. Maker, what I would give for a chair."

Any other time Solas might've commented on Cole's reading of the guards, encouraging or sharing insight with the spirit, but now he said nothing, remaining intent on crossing the palace as swiftly as possible. The fragments of rumor he'd heard kept churning his mind into chaos as he tried to make sense of them. Most of it would be rubbish, the usual rumormongering of the nobility. Yet Solas had known how to play the Game in Arlathan's court and understood it was more complex than a battlefield and could be just as dangerous.

Most rumors held truth in them somewhere—many of them only in the cultural reading, such as the guards' offensive banter about Solas being a jilted lover and his obsession with the Fade. That was a reflection of the Chantry's preaching against the Fade and the human assumption of superiority that dominated this world. The Orlesians expected the Inquisitor, beloved of the court, to have a lover they deemed worthwhile. Solas, as an elf, a mage, and a "Fade expert," was decidedly _not_ beloved at court. Ironically, all of those things had made him a sensation in Arlathan with Elvhen men and women clamoring to hear his tales. 

"Old hurts, older anger, memories of beauty masking ugliness, turning blind eyes to suffering," Cole chattered next to him. Blinking, Solas cleared his mind, walling off his thoughts. Arlathan's class system was gone now and he had other things to worry about.

At the corner where he'd overheard the gossiping guards outside of the eluvian's storage room, Solas stopped and spoke in a whisper to Cole. "I must get through them, but they will not let me pass. I don't want to hurt them, but I cannot delay. If you can make them forget for just a moment as I slip through…"

"I can do that," Cole confirmed. "I can make them forget, if it helps."

"It will," Solas reassured him with a small but genuine smile. "You have my thanks."

Taking a breath inward and clenching his jaw, Solas rounded the corner at a brisk pace, heading straight for the Orlesians. The trio glanced at him and tensed, perhaps sensing menace in Solas' quickened pace or the hard set of his shoulders—or maybe it was just the way he held his hands slightly elevated, as if about to cast…because he _was_ just about to cast.

Solas pounded the three guards with a half-strength veilstrike. The noise of it was louder in the confined space of the corridor than he'd anticipated, but the guards all fell with a cry, stunned. Solas sprinted for the door and opened it. The room inside was the same as when he'd last passed through it. The eluvian gleamed invitingly.

In the hallway the Orlesians stirred quickly, whipping to face the room and deal with the threat. "How _dare_ you…" the guard's voice faltered and stopped.

Solas checked over his shoulder and spotted Cole standing near the three guards. He raised a hand, taking the memory of Solas' attack. "Forget," he ordered them. His eyes slid to Solas. "Go," he said.

With a nod, Solas shut the door to make Cole's task of calming the guards easier, and grabbed up his staff from where he'd hidden it earlier, then rushed through the eluvian. As he stepped out with a little body-wide shiver at the mirror's magical caress, the song of the Crossroads enveloped him again. There'd been a time, long ago, when this place and its song made his heart beat faster with excitement at the journey it promised, the exploration and thrill of reactivating dark mirrors when he was little more than a boy on a quest to learn. Now he just felt his stomach drop as if he'd fallen into the void head first, knowing Ellana had stumbled into this dangerous maze of eluvians, Qunari, and Elvhen magic without him to guide her.

The rock bridge he'd left between the Halamshiral island and the one beside it, which held the Revasan eluvian, was still intact. And on the island he saw blasts of fire, illuminating the group of fighters. His gaze found Ellana immediately, her lean figure bright against the dark rock, an arrow nocked and her bow fully drawn.

Solas charged toward the edge of the island, Fade stepping over the distance and popping out of the charge at will beside her, casting a barrier over her at once. She turned her head, startled and gawking as she reacted to his abrupt appearance. He didn't bother masking his anger, letting her see the snarl on his face but using it to fuel his offensive magic attacks.

He turned a warrior jabbing at Cassandra with his spear into a living wall of flame. The warrior screamed with pain and horror, flailing wildly before he collapsed, his body already turning to ash. He sensed rather than saw the astonishment from Ellana and Dorian, but Cassandra he noticed gawking at the pile of charred remains, her eyes wide as dinner plates.

That was when he realized it was a spell they'd never seen before, stronger than the typical Circle immolation. _Fenedhis._

The saarebas was all that remained, and he was panicking. He cast a sloppy fireball at Iron Bull as the horned giant barreled down on him alongside Rainier and one of the sentinel elves—an older elf named Zaron. He cursed Iron Bull in Qunlat, deflecting Zaron's spells even as he struggled to dodge the warriors' combined attacks. It was over quickly as Iron Bull's axe slammed down into the other Qunari's head and he crumpled in a spray of gore.

Breathing hard and with his heartbeat still roaring in his ears, Solas gazed at the group, taking them in. Ellana's companions appeared unwounded though winded, each of them taking stock of their surroundings and registering his arrival. The pair of sentinels saw him and made eye contact, standing tense like good soldiers awaiting orders from their commander—which was exactly what they were. He tried to will them with his glowering stare not to address him as Fen'Harel.

"Solas," Ellana said, her voice tight. He shot her a sidelong look, finding himself still breathing too quickly, though it had nothing to do with physical or magical exertion. She appeared unharmed and he could see her left hand wasn't glowing green the way it did around rifts or when exposed to Elvhen magic, but she _did_ appear sweaty and pallid as if sickly.

Before he could speak Iron Bull called out, "Look who it is! The father to be!"

Solas stared at him, his angry frown changing immediately to confusion, as if the Iron Bull had started chattering fluently in elven. The words were strangely slow to process, as if frozen by a spell like winter's grasp, but finally he cocked his head, deciding he must have heard wrong. "…excuse me?"

"Oh," Iron Bull said, an apologetic lopsided smile spreading over his lips. He directed his next words to Ellana. "Sorry, Boss."

Solas' head whipped to Ellana, his mouth open and eyes narrowed, but before he could question her she twisted away toward the edge of the island. "Ellana?" he asked, his voice sounding strangled.

She held one hand up to him, palm out, signaling him to stand back. Then, unceremoniously, she leaned her head over the gap and proceeded to vomit.

____________________________________

Things start getting a little more serious, now. It's hard to make confessing "I'm the Dread Wolf, the great adversary of your people" very funny.

**Next Chapter:**

Her lip trembled as she stared at him, the pain in her eyes as excruciating to him as glass shards driven beneath his fingernails. Cupping her cheek with one hand, he stroked his thumb over her lips, hoping to stop their quivering. "Who are you?" she breathed.

"I am Fen'Harel." He swallowed, hardly able to form the words. "I am the Dread Wolf."

* * *


	7. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment your boyfriend of 3 years confesses he's the Dread Wolf and you realize you're carrying a trickster god's baby.

Ellana spit into the void and wiped at her mouth, groaning. Solas watched her with his brow knitted and his lips parted, stunned into speechlessness. The heat of his anger drained away, replaced by the cold weightlessness of shock. The events of the last day started to fit together into a strange cohesion: Sera's new nickname for him, his spy's unwillingness to discuss palace rumors, Dorian's insistence that afternoon that he marry Ellana…

He saw the others either staring at him and Ellana or pretending to be absorbed with cleaning a weapon, adjusting armor, or looting the Qunari bodies. The two sentinels still waited for him to address them and he could almost _feel_ disapproval radiating from them. Everyone seemed to be content in waiting for him to react more fully to this news, preferably in front of them so they could gossip about it later—

And that was when it hit him anew that _everyone_ apparently knew about it. None of their current companions looked surprised and everyone Solas had spoken with on the palace grounds, from Ellana's advisors to companions like Varric, Sera, and Dorian, had all behaved bizarrely in ways he could now connect to _this_. He felt his cheeks bloom with humiliation but refused to let embarrassment show in his posture. He kept his back straight and his head up as he moved to Ellana's side.

"Inquisitor," he said to her, his voice quiet and cold with formality as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps it would be best if we returned to the winter palace."

"Seriously, Solas?" Dorian asked, glaring. "You're not _really_ going with that reaction, are you? The least you could do is drop the title, considering."

"I have nothing that needs be said in front of _you,"_ Solas snarled at him, speaking through gritted teeth.

Dorian scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "What? Just in front of _me?_ How have _I_ offended _you?_ Oh, maybe it was because I dared suggest you should at least _pretend_ to support her?"

Solas' hands curled into fists as he fought down the desire to turn Dorian into a stone statue. He knew he'd be red-faced and quivering with his rage, but it was mostly borne of humiliation at having what should have been an intimate, private conversation out on display for everyone to see. The Tevinter glowered back at him, his expression daring Solas to make the first move.

"Enough, both of you," Ellana scolded. She wiped at her mouth again, still staring into the void, one hand over her stomach. "We head back to Halamshiral," she said and cleared her throat, grimacing with disgust. "I really need some more ginger."

Zaron, the male sentinel, started to speak: "Fen'Ha—"

_"Venavis,"_ Solas cut him off, whipping his head in the sentinel's direction and slashing a hand at them, dismissing them without considering how it'd look to the others and Ellana. Despite his shock he _did_ have the wherewithal to use elven as he issued them orders. _"Return to Hellathen Hamin and…"_ He broke off, shaking his head as he realized he'd slipped into being Fen'Harel the commander, losing the comparatively subservient and humble Solas.

Ellana had straightened completely now and twisted to regard the sentinel elves. Her brow furrowed, eyes leaping between Solas and Mythal's loyal servants. She settled on Solas, her gaze critical. "What did he call you?"

Anger at the humiliating nature of this exchange evaporated, becoming horror that left him sweating and cold. Shame stabbed after it, cutting into his chest like a rogue's blade. He stared down at the black rock of the island, willing himself to ignore their watching, silent companions. "Vhenan," he said, his words ragged. "Please. I will explain everything when we have returned to the winter palace."

The tense silence dragged out as he waited for her decision, aware of Arina and Zaron judging him and seeing weakness. He kept his gaze averted, his mind as empty as he could make it. The conversation he needed to have with Ellana wasn't one he wanted anyone to witness—especially if she turned against him. He'd have to flee or face imprisonment, trial, or perhaps even execution. He deserved it all as Fen'Harel, and Solas might be devastated enough to accept that punishment, if not for the remaining need to restore the People. Only he could lead them to victory by tearing down the Veil. Only he still possessed the power and the knowledge to reshape the world as the last of the Evanuris of Elvhenan.

Finally, just when it seemed the pounding of his own blood in his ears would deafen him, Solas heard Ellana sigh. "All right. Let's get going." After a slight pause she added, "Cassandra, Rainier, Iron Bull. Watch him."

Solas closed his eyes, his stomach seeming to fall to his feet and pass through the stone, careening into the void below. _Fenedhis,_ he thought, clenching his jaw. _I've already lost her._

Ellana led the way and Dorian hurried after her, shooting Solas a nasty glare as he sauntered past. The warriors in their group stayed, waiting for Solas to start after the Inquisitor. The sentinels had shifted position, putting their weight over one leg and crooking the other. Their posture told Solas they were ready to leave and didn't expect him to flee from the Inquisition, though they had to know he could if he wished.

Weighing the decision for only a heartbeat, Solas followed Ellana over the black rock of the stone bridge between the Revasan island and the the Halamshiral eluvian.

As they walked, Cassandra spoke up from behind him. "How did you get past the guards?" The suspicion in her question was raw, making it more of a growl.

Solas stayed silent, staring ahead to where Ellana walked, her Dalish scout armor flopping against her thighs, her bare feet flashing with each step as she jogged over the rock bridge. He would miss her grace and the simple, comfortable joy of waking at her side or meeting her in a dream to show her his power to reshape the Fade. Bowing his head, he wished he hadn't survived uthenera if only to spare himself the suffering of losing her and continuing on the Dread Wolf's path as a soulless husk of himself.

Because he knew Fen'Harel would survive losing her, but Solas would not. Each new breath seemed to hurt more than the last, as if the invisible knife lodged in his chest kept sinking deeper and twisting.

"You cast a spell back there I've never seen before," Cassandra said. "Where did you learn it?"

Again Solas ignored her question, still watching Ellana and letting the iron grip he had on his mind slip slightly. How could she be with child? Shock left him cold and numb, but he knew better than to doubt it. Honestly, could everyone else be mistaken? He reran the exchange through his mind, realizing Ellana hadn't acknowledged it at all, which probably meant it was true. How long had she known? Had she _planned_ this?

"I don't think he feels like talking, your holiness," Rainier said.

"Well," Iron Bull said from the rear most position. "I feel like talking. I think I've heard Dalish curse using the name the other elves said back there. Fenny-hair something. What does it mean?"

"Damned if I know," Rainier answered with a dry chuckle.

Cassandra added, "The only elven I know is that Solas' name means pride."

Solas gnashed his teeth and remained mute as the rocks they walked over.

As they reached the Halamshiral island and the glowing eluvian there Ellana stopped and stepped off to one side of it. Her green eyes found Solas, her expression pinched. Her cheeks were pale and damp with perspiration. Water splattered Solas from the waterfall on this island, making him wince and blink as the retinue halted.

"Dorian, take the lead. Then Solas, then everyone else," she ordered.

She was keeping him sandwiched, under watch by warriors or mages or both. Solas couldn't muster up a frown at the realization and simply sagged as she met his gaze. He lifted his hands, keeping them together at the wrist. "Am I to be bound, vhenan?"

The term of endearment seemed to hit her like a slap, breaking her. She blinked rapidly several times, then said, "No." She motioned at the eluvian. "Never mind. Just…everyone back through the mirror."

Despite her comment that the order no longer mattered, Dorian still went in first and then Ellana hesitated, watching him. Her jaw was tight but her brow furrowed and her eyes red-rimmed though tearless. Solas made eye contact, hoping she could somehow see the pain tearing into his chest that made each breath hard to take. _When we are alone,_ he promised her with his eyes and then strode to the eluvian.

On the other side he found Dorian at the door, demanding to know how the guards had let Solas through. The Orlesian men stared, gawking in bafflement.

The eluvian hummed and pulsed as Ellana came through next, also checking on the guards with a quick glance before she said to Solas, "Let me summon my advisors."

"Vhenan," Solas said. "Please. I would speak with you alone, first." His palms were sweaty, his body cold.

As the eluvian thrummed again, admitting Cassandra through in her ridiculously flamboyant golden armor, Ellana stepped clear of it to make room for the others. Solas trailed after her, a silent and solemn shadow as she called to the Orlesians, ordering them to prepare tea with ginger and send it to her chambers.

"I will call Commander Cullen and Leliana," Cassandra volunteered, brushing past Solas to be closer to Ellana. She did not look at or acknowledge him. "And I will—"

"No," Ellana said, shoulders slumping. "That will not be necessary yet." Looking at him, Ellana said, "Will you follow me?"

There was a note of challenge in her voice and Solas wondered whether she was asking him for fealty or just wondering if he would come willingly. He nodded. "Of course, vhenan." He held back the other words pressing against his throat that he would always follow her if she would have him despite his betrayal and his alter ego. The less said in front of Cassandra, Dorian, and the gawking guards the better.

"Good," she said and took off at a brisk pace, making the guards scramble to clear out of her path. Solas marched after her, down the hall. Servants and guards stared at them, gawking as they walked past. It was most likely the armor and their weapons drawing the attention, but Solas couldn't stop the heat that stole over his cheeks realizing that many of them would also be thinking of Ellana's condition, assuming the entire palace was rampant with it. 

They reached the guest wing, the guards doing a double take as they marched past. Ellana brought him to an enormous corner room and opened the door, striding in and immediately moving to a pitcher of water beside the bed. Solas stayed near the door, closing it and then hesitating a moment as he took several long breaths to compose himself and push aside the quiet rage simmering in his blood. Numbness was better, he decided. At least then he would not say something he regretted later.

Carrying the porcelain pitcher, Ellana circled around the bed and to the privy. Solas waited until she had disappeared into it and then moved to stand just outside, watching. She stood over a washbasin, scrubbing at her mouth with a finger, then spat. After doing the same routine twice she shot him what was almost a sheepish look.

"My throat won't stop burning," she said, as if she needed to explain herself.

"I have some mint," Solas offered and grimaced at how gruff his voice sounded.

"Perhaps after the tea," she said, a wan smile tugging at her lips. The pain in her eyes cut him with shame.

Taking a step toward her and then pausing, fighting the tension in his spine and shoulders, Solas struggled to find a way to start talking in earnest—though exactly what about he wasn't sure. Where to begin when everything was falling apart and spiraling out of his control? Seeing her pallid cheeks, her posture hinting at exhaustion, melted the steel at his core and suddenly he closed the gap between them, taking her in his arms. When she didn't withdraw or push him away but instead laid her head on his chest and let out a shuddering breath, Solas felt the warmth of love surge through him, easily washing away everything else.

Stroking her hair, he asked, "Is it true? Are you…?"

She let out a chuckle, the sound thick with emotion and tears. Sniffling, she turned her head, pressing her forehead to his chest. "I didn't realize until last night. I searched for you…"

Frowning at the flicker of irritation that lashed him, Solas tried to laugh, but it emerged as more of a grunt. "Was it really necessary to tell _everyone_ else?"

She groaned and pushed back from him, her eyes narrowing with annoyance of her own. "I didn't. I consulted Josephine and I…" She turned away from him and shook her head. "And I told Sera. That was it." Jerking her head back toward him, she drilled into him with anger now. "I wanted to tell _you_ , but you weren't here! And then when you were it just didn't seem right with the whole of Southern Thedas under threat."

At her admonishment Solas stared at the giant tub off to his left, feeling his cheeks grow hot with shame. "I am sorry, vhenan." He smiled, dry and humorless and forlorn. "The timing is…"

"Awful," she finished for him and he could hear the frown in the single word.

He searched her face, his lips compressing into a thin line as new, troubling thoughts invaded his mind. Her reaction left him no doubt she had not planned this child, but did she not want it? There were potions he'd heard of in his time at Arlathan that could empty a woman's womb. It'd been a common enough practice in Elvhenan among the nobility as their immortality ensured there were always too many being born and too few leaving the world. How ironic that circumstances had changed so dramatically that now the elven people, both the ancients from uthenera and the modern alike, would abhor the thought of destroying a pureblooded child.

Licking his lips, he opened his mouth to ask her what she felt and express these thoughts—only to snap his jaw shut and sigh with frustration. What right did he have fording into that topic when soon she might turn him away as the traitor he was to both the People and to the Inquisition? He could not carry the child, could not bring it to life or care for it in her place. If she no longer wanted him at her side, how could he ask her to keep his child?

"Solas?" she asked, a worried frown contorting her face. Her chin wrinkled as she struggled to contain her emotions. "Say something, please."

"I have no right," he blurted.

She shook her head, confused. "What?"

Something within his chest felt as though it was both freezing and burning at the same time. He blinked, his eyes feeling hot, but refused to look away from her. "Ar lath ma, vhenan. Forever." He sucked in a quavering breath. "But you should know who and what I truly am. Before I hurt you any further. You deserve the truth."

Her lip trembled as she stared at him, the pain in her eyes as excruciating to him as glass shards driven beneath his fingernails. Cupping her cheek with one hand, he stroked his thumb over her lips, hoping to stop their quivering. "Who are you?" she breathed.

"I am Fen'Harel." He swallowed, hardly able to form the words. "I am the Dread Wolf."

_____________________________________

The words impacted Ellana and strangely she felt nothing at first. Then her thoughts slowed, growing thick with confusion. For a moment her lips curled in a grin and then down into a frown. She shook her head, eyelids fluttering as a wave of vertigo passed through her. He was watching her, waiting for a reaction. She remembered meeting "Mythal" well enough and decided that must be what he meant, somehow. "What? How is that possible? Are you a vessel? Like Flemeth?"

"No," Solas admitted, whispering. "I passed the ages in the deep sleep of uthenera. I visited your people in dreams, trying to guide them." The bleakness in his gaze hardened briefly with something like anger. "But I could not help them as they would not listen to me."

A deadly stillness had begun to spread through her as this strange new reality continued. Why hadn't he laughed and revealed this as a prank? Or perhaps she was dreaming and this wasn't Solas at all, just a spirit in the Fade spinning a wild, unbelievable—and downright horrifying—story.

She remembered the sentinel asking, _Where's Fen'Harel?_ Suddenly she felt nauseous again and tore free of Solas' embrace, hands lifted to ward him away as she shook her head. "Solas, please tell me you're joking. You cannot possibly be the _Dread Wolf._ It's…not possible."

Pain darkened his eyes and his shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry, vhenan. I wish I had told you years ago, but I was selfish. I feared losing you once you knew the truth."

Her knees had gone shaky. "There's more isn't there?" she asked and let out an involuntary whimper as he nodded, his expression grave. She laughed, dry and brittle. "Oh, good. At least I saw that coming."

He flinched but didn't back down or hesitate. "Do you recall the night I took you to Crestwood? When I removed your vallaslin?" He didn't wait for her to answer but plunged onward. "I planned to tell you everything then, but I could not bring myself to cause you pain. Your people are not wrong about me. I have made many mistakes, but I have always fought for the People. I will always fight for them…"

Laying one hand over the weight in her abdomen, she tried to keep herself from quaking as new connections snapped together in her mind. All of the ancient memories he possessed, his deep love of the Fade that was so opposed to Chantry rhetoric, the elven language that flowed so fluently from his lips despite him being non-Dalish…this news connected it all. The weight of it slammed into her like a fist.

"Mythal's mercy," she whispered more to herself than to Solas. "I've been sharing my bed with a god." _I'm carrying the Dread Wolf's child…_ Her heartbeat boomed inside her skull like a drum.

Solas' mouth twisted into something neither frown nor smile. "I am as mortal as you now. I was never a god, just as Mythal and Elgar'nan and all the rest of the Evanuris were but mages with extraordinary talent and skill—leaders and victors in a bitter civil war." His lips curled, his nose wrinkling with rage as he went on. "And when it was over they were elevated as gods. They enslaved thousands, killed hundreds for sport alone."

"My people's legends say Fen'Harel sealed them away…" Ellana breathed, fighting to concentrate as the world seemed to tip around her, everything she'd thought she knew imploding.

"I did," Solas said, the rage draining from his face, leaving only despair as a dark shadow in his blue eyes. "After they killed Mythal. She was the best of them, the only one who truly cared about her people. Once she was gone I had no choice. The Evanuris would have destroyed everything." He broke off, closing his eyes and drooping his head. "Or so I believed."

She shook her head, confused. "But how did you seal them away? My people's legends say Elvhenan fell because our gods could no longer walk among us. If they were false gods, how did sealing them away destroy the People?"

Solas gave a bitter laugh, anger returning to his features. "Because to seal them away I sundered our people from the Fade and that destroyed them."

Ellana blinked, staring at him as her brow furrowed, trying to understand. "But we are still connected to the Fade. We aren't dreamless like the dwarves."

"Vhenan," Solas said, his gaze flicking over her. "The Fade and the waking world were once the same. This world you were born into is a travesty—a shadow of what it should be. In Elvhenan _every_ elf was a mage and we did not age. Everything we did, or built, or recorded was done using magic. When I woke into this age, it was agony. It was like being made Tranquil. The most powerful mages of this world would be considered weak in Elvhenan. Dorian and Vivienne would be among the servant class at best."

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, speechless.

Seeing her reaction, Solas sighed and covered his face with one hand. "I am sorry, vhenan. I know this is…"

"But the Veil," Ellana interrupted. "Are you saying the Veil didn't exist?"

He stared down at the floor, crestfallen. "I created it to lock away the Evanuris."

"You _created_ it," Ellana repeated and stumbled back from him as the world spun around her again. "Creators have mercy…" She caught herself on the tub as Solas reached out to steady her, then pulled free of his gentle grip. She backpedaled further away to get out of his reach, unable to look at him directly. "I cannot believe what I'm hearing," she said, the words tiny and frail. "I think I may vomit again."

Solas had frozen where he stood when she rejected his touch but at her comment he stepped clear of the room, but only long enough to fetch a chamber pot. She watched him, breathing as deeply as she could through the pain in her chest, swallowing bile. The devastation and grief in his face twisted the ache in her chest. But the tenderness and concern she saw beneath his misery started the familiar warmth of love spreading through her. His tiny act of caring in the midst of this dark and terrible confession made it impossible to see anyone but _Solas_ , the man she'd shared her life with now for three years, who'd saved her life in Haven and fought with her to close the Breach and kill Corypheus.

And though he'd lied to her, hiding the truth, she found herself wanting to embrace him, to try and ease the grief she saw in him now. How many times had she sought out his wisdom and heeded his counsel? He'd stayed with her when even Dorian had left, and she'd assumed it was because they were lovers and he had nowhere else to be. But now she realized how wrong she'd been and how hard Solas must've worked to remain at her side despite the danger. Already she could see the weight of responsibility couched on his shoulders and sensed there had to be more he wasn't telling her. The thought made her want to sob with dread, but simultaneously she knew she didn't care what he'd been or what he'd done. How could it change who he was to her really?

Her heart ached anew as she tried to imagine the stress he'd weathered all this time, carrying the weight of his secret past.

As he extended the chamber pot out to her like a gift, she made eye contact with him. And suddenly she found herself laughing, though it had a choking, hysterical sound to it.

He winced and moved to the nearest counter, setting the chamber pot on it. "Vhenan? Are you well?"

"No," she said, shaking her head as tears abruptly filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. "No, I'm really not."

He stared at her, his expression stricken.

Ellana went on before he could speak. "I've just found out my lover is the trickster god my Keeper always warned me about." She laughed again but cut it off with a choke as she wiped at the tears careening down her cheeks. "And now I'm carrying his child."

"I did not mean for this to happen," he said, his voice deep and rough with emotion. He stared off at the wall behind her, his gray eyes unfocused. "You cannot imagine how often I have wished I truly were merely Solas. Do you know how devastating it is to be remembered as a monster by the very people you spent your whole life fighting to save?"

"No, I don't," she whispered, the words trembling. "But one day Orlais and Ferelden could hate me, too." She chuckled thickly through her tears. "Maybe they'll hate me as soon as tomorrow for adjourning the summit."

"It is not the same," he shot back with heat, glaring in her direction now. "Do not make light of it. I _destroyed_ Elvhenan. And the only way to set it right is to tear down the Veil. But doing so would all but destroy your world, Ellana." His eyes drilled into her, daring her to find a shred of humor in the situation now.

"You would destroy this world?" Ellana asked, almost breathless.

"To restore the People," he told her, clenching his jaw. "Yes." His eyes were bright with moisture. "I did not see this world or its inhabitants as real at first. But then I met you and once I joined the Inquisition I learned how wrong I was." Shame clouded his features and he turned his head to avoid her stare. "And yet I have not stopped searching for a way to do it. Can you look at me and tell me now that you do not see a monster? A trickster? _Harellan?_ "

"You would sacrifice everything in this world? You would let me die as well?" Ellana asked, waves of hot and cold washing over her. A little sob caught in her throat as she stared at him, her heart in her throat. "I don't believe you."

"Fen'Harel would let you die," Solas told her. His chin wrinkled, lips twisting.

"And Solas?" she asked, gritting her teeth and flicking her tears away. "What of the man I've loved for three years?"

"Ar lath ma," he whispered, eyes closing.

"That's not an answer," she said, her body shaking. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Solas, you are part of this world. Part of _my_ world. You helped save it from Corypheus. How could you choose to destroy it? To let me die?"

He didn't look at her. Shoulders hunched and grief written over his face, he merely shook his head. "Don't you see that whatever choice I make, as Fen'Harel or as Solas, I can never redeem myself? If I give up now the People will perish. We will die, snuffed out like candles by the humans' breath, but it was I who dealt the deathblow. And if I sacrifice you and this world..." When he at last opened his eyes, Ellana saw tears glistening. His throat worked as he swallowed. "I will always die a monster. _Harellan._ Alone."

Her heart beating against her breastbone, Ellana suddenly lunged for him, taking his face in her hands and staring up into his blue gray eyes. "There _must_ be another way. You are _not_ a monster. Not now and not in the past, emma lath. Let me help you."

A tear rolled down his cheek as he gazed at her, brow furrowed in something like consternation. "Help me? Vhenan, you do not understand what you ask…"

"Nothing you did before will make me leave you," she insisted, brushing her thumb over the tear to wipe it away. "You are not a monster, Solas. You cannot blame yourself for the fall of Elvhenan, but if there's a way to bring down the Veil and restore our people that won't kill us all…" She smiled, wan and trembling as fresh tears leapt to her eyes. "Of course I want to help."

His eyes crinkled with anguish. "And if we cannot find a way to restore the world without destroying it?"

Drawing in a shaky breath, Ellana dropped her right hand down and clasped one of his, squeezing it and drawing it to rest over her abdomen. "Then we reshape this world some other way. We make a future for our child."

________________________________________________

The tears glimmering in her green eyes made him think of the Fade, of the beauty and wonders that he'd robbed his people of when he created the Veil. Yet now he didn't think of the People abstractly—he envisioned Ellana, representing them all. Guilt tore at his flesh, as sharp as a blade. He wanted to believe her, to let go and embrace the rising longing inside himself, to accept the beauty of her offer, which was so generous it'd left him speechless for the moment.

But the weight of history clawed at his conscience. Elves had established a homeland before in the vain hope of rebuilding their lost empire and regaining their immortality, but with the Veil in place that could never happen. Eventually the humans, with their far greater numbers, would destroy it. But with the Veil gone the elves would reconnect with the Fade, accessing the fullness of magic that their Elvhen ancestors had possessed. They'd naturally outstrip the humans using magic. War would follow, but Solas knew the elves would emerge undefeated in spite of their fewer numbers. Magic would win them what good deeds and politicking and rebellions never could: freedom.

A half-sob, half-choking noise escaped Solas' throat. He brought his other hand to the nape of her neck and leaned close to press his forehead to hers. "We would fail," he said, voice cracking. "Just as the promise of the Dales did."

"You don't know that," she said, squeezing his hand over her abdomen. "Would you really deny our child a chance to live?"

Solas' gaze flicked over her face, searching her, forgetting to breathe. Before he could stop himself he wondered if their child would have its mother's eyes, or perhaps his hair color. What kind of spirit would it be? Brash and prideful and curious? Elegant and funny and courageous? Would it be born a Dreamer like him?

Something hot and needy curled inside him, pressing against his throat and setting his limbs shaking. He gave in, letting the thoughts spill out of him, shoulders heaving with each breath. "No," he murmured. "I would see it live. I would see our child ageless and eternal, free to seek knowledge and ask questions, to explore." He let out a sad laugh. "I would see our child grow, and I would teach it everything I know."

"Then let me help you," Ellana pleaded.

Another sobbing noise tore its way from Solas' lips as the emotion inside him seemed to break loose, shifting and giving way. He wrapped his arms around Ellana, crushing her to him and stroking her hair with shaking hands. She let out a breath, warm against his neck.

"I do not deserve your devotion," he whispered hoarsely.

"Ar lath ma, Solas," she whispered back, nuzzling his ear. "My love is unconditional."

He inhaled a trembling breath, his body quaking even more and hot tears pressing against his eyelids again. "For you, vhenan, for our child—I will try anything." Pulling away, he kissed her, quick but deep and needy and passionate. When the kiss broke, both of them breathing ragged with emotion, Solas held her cheeks cupped in his palms and stared into her green eyes. "There is still more to tell you, but there will be time."

She clasped his hands on her cheeks, her gaze darkening with gloom. "Promise me one thing."

"Anything, if it is within my power," Solas whispered, but he frowned as he said the words, worrying what she would ask.

A weak smile spread over her lips. "No more secrets. No more half-truths." Her eyelids fluttered shut. " _Please."_

He smiled, pressing his forehead to hers again. _"Ma nuvenin, vhenan."_

A thumping noise drifted in from the other room as someone knocked on Ellana's closed door. For a few heartbeats they ignored it, still holding each other, lingering in the moment of peace before the outside world could intrude on it. Then, as the knock came again, louder this time, Ellana shifted and Solas drew back from her.

"I suspect that will be my tea. And maybe dinner," she said, smiling wearily.

Solas nodded, briefly considering whether he should warn her about the servants in the winter palace and then, remembering his promise, immediately cleared his throat and spoke. "You must be wary, Ellana. Many of the servants in the palace are Qunari spies."

Her lips parted, her eyes widening with surprise. "Qunari spies?"

"Yes." He hesitated another second and then dropped his gaze to the floor, committing to the promise again for the second time in just the last minute. "And the Inquisition has been infiltrated by them as well. I know more of the spies there than I do in the palace. I can help you find them."

"And you know this how, exactly?" Ellana asked, her voice soft and breathy with shock.

Solas smiled humorlessly. "Through my own spy network."

"This is why you didn't want to come here," she murmured aloud. "And why you told me to disband the Inquisition."

He raised his head, meeting her stare with a sad smile. "You are as clever as you are beautiful."

Anger flashed briefly over her features, darkening them. "You should have told me."

Closing his eyes, fighting away the stab of regret, Solas said, "I know."

The knock pounded even louder from the other room and this time Josephine's voice accompanied it. "Inquisitor! Lady Lavellan? I have your tea. Are you…all right?"

Another familiar female voice—Cassandra—called out with a note of anger and fear. "Inquisitor! Please, you must let us in."

"I think I'd better answer that," Ellana said with a crooked smile. "Or Divine Victoria may declare an Exalted March on my bedchambers." She sobered, still staring at him. "What will you tell my advisors? Our friends?"

He tensed, his brow furrowing as he thought quickly. "They would not understand, vhenan. Restoring the world would return the People to power with magic. They fear the Fade and they would never choose to cede power to the People. They would oppose our plans."

She looked as though she might be sick again, one hand going to rest over her stomach as she paled. "You don't know that," she whispered, eyes closing.

"I do," he said, scowling at the unhappy truth of it and the way it affected her. "As do you." Grief lodged a lump in his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow. He had grown to respect and care for their companions as real people whose suffering mattered, but those emotions could never be allowed to stand in the way of empowering the People and fixing the world.

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra yelled.

Ellana shot him an unhappy look. "We will discuss this later. I have more questions…" Her eyes narrowed. "Fen'Harel."

He looked away, grimacing. "Please. I am just Solas. Let me remain Solas with you."

"Solas, then," she said with a solemn nod. "I won't reveal you." Thrusting her shoulders back and holding her head up, Ellana strode past him, but paused in the doorway. Reaching for his hand, she squeezed it in silent solidarity, her palms as sweaty as his own. Then she left the privy, heading for the door.

Watching her go, Solas let out a shuddering breath and slumped backwards into the enormous porcelain tub behind him. Scrubbing at his face, slimy with perspiration, he tried to bring his shaking under control. Conflicting concerns and emotions battered him from within, twisting his heart into knots that seemed to tighten with each beat. He had told her the truth—or most of it, anyway—and she had not turned on him. If she had, Solas knew he wouldn't have blamed her. But Ellana still didn't know of his role in the Breach, or that the Anchor on her hand would one day kill her if he didn't amputate it.

Her devotion and optimism made him ache, longing for her dream of a peaceful resolution to be true. Yet he could not see any way to restore the world without sacrifice and conflict. Whether that was merely his own death as penance, or the destruction of humanity and the other races of Thedas aside from the People, he wasn't certain yet. Putting up the Veil had nearly killed him so long ago as the shock of it sent him into uthenera. Taking it down might be easier, but reshaping reality as the chaos raged around him…

Din'anshiral. Walking the path of restoration would prove deadly, the punishment he'd long deserved for what he'd done to the People. Fen'Harel was content with such sacrifice, but Solas thought of Ellana and the unborn child she carried and felt nothing but enraged despair that he might not live long enough to influence its life.

His hands clenched into fists and his breathing became choked, tearless sobs for a few moments as he pushed aside those thoughts. Ellana was greeting Cassandra and Josephine in the other room, reassuring them that everything was fine. He needed to appear as though his world wasn't shattering.

_For now,_ he thought, pressing his thumbs to his eyes as the wave of despair passed. _I must not lose hope—for her sake._

____________________________________

**Next chapter tease:**

She smiled weakly and shook her head, sending ripples through the bath. "I was just realizing I hardly know anything about you."

His heart twisted with a cutting pain. Clenching his jaw and drawing in a quiet breath, he said, "You have but to ask, vhenan."


	8. He Who Bathes Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition begins stamping out the Qunari spies in their ranks. Solas reveals some nasty details about Elvhenan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, for sexy time smut.

"Those are _definitely_ gaatlok barrels, Boss," Iron Bull said and let out a deep-throated growl. "What are they _doing_ here?"

Ellana stared at the barrels, her arms crossed over her chest and her face set in an angry, frustrated snarl. "The more important question is who brought them here." Fortunately she already knew the answer to that, as bad as it was: Qunari spies working within the Inquisition.

It was well after dark outside the tavern. A few lanterns hung from the roof's overhang, casting a yellow-orange glow over the barrels and crates that'd been moved into this position by servants within the palace. Inquisition soldiers stood in a hard line around the tavern, blocking it off. Orlesian nobles and guards glared from a distance at the Inquisition's takeover, unaware that the explosive gaatlok had infiltrated Halamshiral right under their noses.

Because the Inquisition had betrayed them.

"I will deal with this, Inquisitor," Leliana said, her expression angry. She shook her head, lips curling with disgust. "I cannot believe how close we came to disaster. I should have seen this coming."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Red," Iron Bull said. "You're up against Ben-Hassrath."

"And I am the Inquisition's spymaster," she reminded him, glaring. "There is no excuse."

"Take the barrels into custody," Ellana ordered, motioning with one hand. "We'll keep this quiet and study the powder."

Iron Bull motioned with his hands up, palms out, signaling caution. "Have your people be careful, Boss. This stuff is dangerous." He made a face. "In fact, maybe you should back up a bit. And don't stand anywhere near while they handle it."

"You know the most about it, Iron Bull," Ellana said. "Would you help our soldiers move it?"

He nodded, though he looked wary. "I'll do what I can."

"Inquisitor," Leliana said. "Might I have a word?" She gestured away from the tavern. Nodding, Ellana followed as the spymaster led her around the corner, out of sight and earshot of the Inquisition soldiers, Iron Bull, and any Orlesian nobility, guards, or servants. Once they were in a secure spot Leliana edged close to her, speaking quietly. "I have already sent messages to my foreign contacts. We must find out the extent of this Dragon's Breath for ourselves."

Ellana kept her posture and her expression as neutral as she could. "You don't trust Solas?"

Leliana hesitated a heartbeat, remorse clouding her features. "My instincts tell me he is being less than truthful with us." She jerked her chin in the direction of the tavern. "Of course I appreciate him directing us to this and alerting us to the Qunari spies in our ranks, but that does not explain how he knew of it." Sympathy furrowed her brow as she laid a hand on Ellana's arm. "I am sorry. I cannot imagine how difficult all this is for you."

Ellana nodded, chewing her lip and evading the spymaster's probing stare. Less than an hour ago Solas had stood in front of her advisors and Cassandra to explain his involvement in the Crossroads and the Qunari plot. Some of what he'd revealed had been new to Ellana as well, such as Solas' claim that the Qunari were frantically collecting and cataloguing magical items and artifacts in an ironic quest to save Thedas from magic. That had been how they stumbled into the eluvian network and encountered the sentinel elves—which he now admitted to leading as their spymaster. The plan was called Dragon's Breath and included killing Ellana, Empress Celene, and Divine Victoria in a single gaatlok attack on the winter palace during the Exalted Council. Naturally, Solas had come forward to ask for their help in stopping it.

He had not, however, revealed to the humans his true identity as the Dread Wolf and Ellana followed his lead, as much as it made her feel sick to hide it. _Solas will come around,_ she reassured herself and tried to believe it.

"Whatever he's holding back," she told Leliana, "I trust him." The words made her want to laugh as she imagined how horrified her Keeper would be to hear her utter such a sentiment. The Dalish even had a phrase to describe foolish life choices: _Fen'Harel ma ghilana._ It translated out as, 'The Dread Wolf guides you.'

Well, the Dread Wolf had been guiding her for years now.

"Of course," Leliana said, the sympathy in her face softening her. "But it's obvious to me it is not just the Qunari with spies in our ranks." Her pale blue eyes flicked over Ellana, scrutinizing her carefully. "He's told you more than he has told us," she said, reading the truth with a coy little smile. "Is this some kind of elven uprising?"

"We can trust Solas," Ellana repeated, her voice hard and firm. Both of them knew she had deliberately not answered Leliana's question.

Leliana arched an eyebrow, irritation flashing in her eyes. "If that is true, Inquisitor, why did he hide this from you? Why did he hide it from me when he first joined? I would have welcomed an elven spymaster. I've supported efforts in the past to improve the lives of elves and mages alike. Instead he remained separate and infiltrated our forces with spies of his own." She made a noise in her throat and turned away from Ellana, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I have no right to be angry with you, or him—only myself. I should have suspected."

With Leliana no longer watching her, Ellana allowed herself to frown. _You could not have seen this coming,_ she thought, wishing she could console the spymaster. Instead she said, "I trust Solas to tell us what we need to know in time."

"I hope you are right, Inquisitor," Leliana answered, doubt unmistakable in her voice. She glanced over her shoulder at Ellana and nodded once. "I must send out some letters. If you'll excuse me."

Ellana watched the spymaster leave as Solas' words echoed in her mind: _They would not understand._ Her heart twisted and she groaned to herself, wishing she didn't believe him, but the Dalish remembered the way humanity had betrayed them. Elvhenan might not have crumbled because of humans the way history believed, but the Dales certainly had.

Fatigue dragged at her shoulders, making the weight resting in her abdomen feel even heavier. With an effort she kept her back straight and marched out of the courtyard, heading for the guest wing and a long-awaited date with her enormous bed, or maybe she'd try out that tub if she had the energy. Hopefully her bed wouldn't be empty tonight either.

The last she'd seen of Solas he'd accompanied Commander Cullen to identify and apprehend the Qunari spies within their ranks. The murderous fury on Cullen's face that evening had made her ready to cringe with sympathy for the spies. And maybe for Solas too. Cullen looked ready to strangle him during the meeting with all of her advisors. Ellana couldn't imagine how enraged the commander would be if he knew as much as she did about Solas.

 _He will come round,_ she promised herself again. _We'll find a way to fix this._

___________________________________________

Crossing the courtyard after finishing supplying Commander Cullen with the names of the Qunari spies he knew of within the Inquisition, Solas noticed the way Inquisition soldiers and sentries kept watch on him. It was subtle: a flick of their eyes as they watched him walk or the slight stiffening in their postures when he neared. As he reached the stairs leading into the palace he noted a sentry following him, carrying a note and seemingly focused on her own, separate mission.

He smiled to himself. _It's about time you had me followed, Leliana._

Solas knew that in revealing himself even partially to Ellana's advisors he'd humiliated the spymaster and she'd be as flustered as one of her ravens discovering it'd had its wings clipped. She now knew she'd been played, housing another "spymaster" unknowingly for three years. He wished he could reassure her that she'd done a passable job for the Inquisition, that she had never had any hope of uncovering who and what he really was because the clues were thousands of years old.

But he did feel mildly disappointed that it'd taken her this long to have him watched. Then again, he suspected his three years of loyal service and the fact that he was Ellana's lover had made her hesitant. Still, it was sloppy.

Of course Leliana could not follow him into the Fade, and that was where Solas did much of his most secretive communication. The benefits of being a Dreamer never disappointed in this world of Tranquil, all of them terrified of the Fade and its mysteries. It was like being the only person who could swim in a fishermen's village. Only the uneducated need fear the waters while a swimmer could play and dive to recover forgotten relics and riches.

To the right of the main landing in front of the palace gates Solas saw Vivienne chatting with a masked nobleman. He quickened his pace, eager to pass her without being noticed—but he'd had absolutely rotten luck most of the day so he wasn't the least bit surprised when she called out, "Solas, dear!"

He halted and turned to regard her as she walked daintily in his direction, a warm smile on her lips and cold, cruel delight burning in her eyes. He'd seen enough smugness in Arlathan's courtly Game to recognize it in the Orlesian mockery of Elvhen subterfuge. In Solas' day even _dreams_ weren't safe from the Game.

"Enchanter," he greeted her, forcing his own feigned smile onto his lips. "What a pleasant but unexpected surprise. Did they forget to lock the door to your Circle's tower? How embarrassing."

She laughed a moment, finishing with a slight sigh as she stopped in front of him, one hand on her hip. "I've been meaning to catch up with you, my dear. There have been some truly _dreadful_ rumors circulating."

Solas let out a little huff of irritation before he could stop himself. _Not this again._ He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the sentry tailing him had taken up a position standing beside the stairs with her back to him, as if on watch. _Sloppy indeed, Leliana,_ he thought. The sentry should have continued inside and waited there, or better still there should be a tag-team of watchers dedicated to tracking his whereabouts.

To the Enchanter he smiled benignly. "Yes, I've heard quite the gossip since arriving. My favorite tale, however, is an older one—about how the Chantry clerics very briefly entertained nominating a mage to become Divine. Can you imagine?" He tilted his head, allowing himself a broader smile as he saw the words impact Vivienne, making her mask slip away as she scowled.

He made a clucking noise with his tongue, as if disappointed. "Sadly I heard the clerics were quick to discount the mage. Apparently her political machinations were rather poorly executed and the clerics saw them as little more than feeble attempts to wrest power for herself." He shook his head, feigning sadness. "Most unfortunate."

Vivienne's nostrils flared with her rage and Solas didn't miss the tension in the air, the prickling energy of offensive magic just at the Enchanter's fingertips. Long seconds passed before she drew in a deep breath and the cold smile returned to her lips. "I heard you were away yesterday, apostate."

"Yes," Solas agreed. "The Exalted Council has kept me very busy, as has my work for the Inquisition."

"A pity," Vivienne said, her lip curling with disdain for a moment before she smiled again. The cruel humor had returned to her eyes and Solas knew that meant she was about to strike with her verbal attack. "Had you been here you might have been able to congratulate our dear Lady Lavellan on her wonderful—if a bit unexpected—news."

The way she stared at him expectantly told Solas she believed he didn't know of Ellana's pregnancy. He wanted to grin, to show the strange joy and pride that'd begun building within him at the news, but he held the reaction in check. Instead he revealed only a glimmer of that emotion to let Vivienne see that he already knew. "Yes, I do wish I could have been here. But it is a private matter between myself and—"

"Oh," Vivienne interrupted him, the malicious humor in her eyes harder now. "But how awkward for you that the court is simply abuzz with such slander." She shook her head, a mock look of sympathy contorting her features. "To think that any of these fools would believe the Inquisitor could leave you for Commander Cullen. Or that _he_ could be the one to have put her in such a delicate condition."

Solas paused, blinking as she spoke. The memory of the Orlesian guards outside the storage room returned to his mind along with the noblewomen's breathless gossip about Ellana sleeping with Cullen. Knowing Vivienne had meant to humiliate or enrage him, Solas quashed his initial reaction of irritation and instead laughed.

Vivienne glared at him for a second before the polite mask covered her features again. "Whatever is so funny, apostate?"

"Did you think to trouble me with such petty gossip, Enchanter? Halamshiral would be rife with such rumors regardless." He nodded to her, still grinning as he thought: _But thank you for showing your hand, Enchanter._ He would warn Josephine, Leliana, and Ellana that Vivienne could no longer be trusted. The rumor circulating about the palace about Cullen having a relationship with Ellana came from the Enchanter. He should have known, based on the pattern of who repeated the gossip. The Cullen rumor spread with the nobility, while the lower classes and all their friends knew the truth. 

"Now," Solas said with a dip of his head. "I must take my leave, but it has been a pleasure as always, Enchanter."

Vivienne sniffed, her nose wrinkling as if she'd smelled something foul. "Apostate."

Solas took off for the palace gate again, passing through with barely a glance from the two bored guards on duty. Behind him Solas heard Leliana's spy resume her mission, tailing him through the palace foyer and to the guest wing. The sentry didn't follow him inside but must have stopped to make small talk with the guards outside to wait and see if he reemerged. She'd be bored soon enough because Solas had no intention of leaving before the morning unless Ellana turned him away.

At her chamber he raised one fist to knock but the door opened before he could and he found himself almost eye-to-eye with Lanya, his winter palace head spy. Careful to control his expression, Solas smiled politely. "Greetings. Is the Inquisitor accepting visitors?"

Lanya's eyes narrowed. "Lady Lavellan is indisposed."

He raised his eyebrows, unable to mask his concern. "Is she well?"

"Yes," Lanya answered and then explained. "She's in the bath…sir."

The thought made his body flush with the heat of desire, though he gave no indication of it as he nodded. The tightness in Lanya's face told him she'd likely heard the gossip about the pregnancy. There was little point pretending he wasn't at her door for personal reasons. With a servant that wasn't his spy this would be far less awkward. "Please ask if she would see me…" he paused a moment and then cleared his throat, adding, "When she is finished, of course."

"Of course." Lanya smirked and Solas didn't miss her double meaning. They both knew he wouldn't be waiting in her room and Lanya would shortly find herself kicked out.

Lanya closed the door and Solas heard her tread retreating deeper into the room, but he couldn't quite make out the murmur of conversation. But only a few seconds later Lanya opened the door wide for him. "Lady Lavellan will see you," she said and then, as he stepped past her, she whispered, _"Fen'Harel, lasa ghilan._ "

She was looking for guidance, for new orders. Solas hesitated, thinking before he answered, _"Theneras."_

Pinching her lips together, Lanya nodded and left the room. She knew he would meet her in the Fade and commune with her there. Solas knew he needed to warn her and his other spies in the waking world that he was now under watch and the Inquisition spymaster would be combing through the ranks, seeking them. Unlike the Qunari, who could be any race, Solas' spies were exclusively elven. The Inquisition had plenty of elves within its ranks, drawn to the organization because of Ellana's race and her deeds, and many were not Solas' spies. Yet plenty were and it was an unfortunate and unavoidable weakness of his network. Leliana would naturally suspect all elven recruits now, but most likely those with bare faces who she'd assume would be city elves when really they were Elvhen.

Closing the door and emptying his mind, Solas strode to the shuttered doorway of Ellana's bath and leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. "Vhenan?" he called softly.

He heard the gentle splash of water. "I asked the servant to leave," she said from within. "Has she gone?"

"Yes," Solas answered. He could smell the faint fragrance wafting through the slightly ajar door and let his eyes drift shut.

"Then why are you waiting out there?" she asked, and he picked out a note of teasing in the words that sent his heart hammering though he tried to quell it. He had no right to expect intimacy from her after his betrayal as much as he might long for it.

"I did not wish to intrude or…" He frowned, searching for the right way to phrase it.

"This bath is bigger than some of the aravels in my clan," she said, interrupting him. "I think it's meant to be shared. Besides, we weren't finished talking earlier. So, come in."

With her encouragement, Solas opened the door, blinking as he stepped into the smaller room and found it warm and humid. Ellana was submerged in water up to her shoulders, frothy bubbles floating around the edges of the tub and masking some of her body. Her head reclined at the edge of the tub, her hair loose and soaked, plastered against the porcelain until she raised her head and smiled at him. The expression had an edge of uncertainty to it, her green eyes narrowed slightly as she looked over him. Despite her jovialness inviting him into the intimate space she wasn't entirely at ease, exactly as Solas had expected.

He swallowed, finding his mouth dry and his throat tight as different emotions warred inside him—desire and love, shame and anxiety. He managed a weak smile in answer to hers. "What would you like to know?"

"Is my servant a spy?" she asked.

He uncrossed his arms, trying to ease the tension in his spine and using the motion to evade her penetrating gaze. "Yes."

"One of yours or one of the Qunari?" she asked.

He looked at her now. "Mine. I wanted you protected." He hesitated a moment and then revealed, "I have a chain of spies in place in the kitchens as well. I feared the Qunari or any one of our other enemies might try poison."

"You're very thorough," she said, the admiration and affection in her voice and her gaze impossible to miss.

Solas chuckled and glanced away again, taking in the small tray of bath oils and soaps on the counter across from the tub. His arrival had disrupted Lanya's administrations and pampering. Solas had chosen her for Ellana specifically for her softhearted nature and because of her compassion. Before uthenera she had been a middle class artist who joined him hoping to make a difference for their people, fighting for freedom. It was Lanya who'd designed the murals and many of the statues around Revasan, the sanctuary for freed slaves. With the Veil in place she lacked enough connection to the Fade to be a mage, making her ideal as a spy.

"Was poison common in Elvhenan?" she asked, splashing slightly as she moved.

"No," Solas admitted and frowned as he struggled with his instinct to remain vague and unclear, always hiding his past. "The goal of poison is to mask assassination as deadly illness. Immortal beings who know no disease cannot hope to use poison in such a manner. It would be obvious that poison was used."

"Immortality," she murmured, her voice somehow managing to be both sad and awed. Sighing, she leaned her head back against the tub. "Do I really want to know how old you truly are?"

He laughed again, grinning at her. "No, you would not. But I was still considered a youth at Arlathan and one of the youngest of the Evanuris." The humor drained from him then as he saw her somber expression. "I'm sorry. I suppose this must still be difficult to hear. I did not mean to trouble you."

She smiled weakly and shook her head, sending ripples through the bath. "I was just realizing I hardly know anything about you."

His heart twisted with a cutting pain. Clenching his jaw and drawing in a quiet breath, he said, "You have but to ask, vhenan."

"All right," she said and sat up, exposing her breasts out of the water and drawing his gaze before he averted his eyes again, ashamed of his own baser reaction during this tense moment. She drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest. "Tell me about your family. I've never heard you mention parents or siblings. How did the Dread Wolf become such a loner?"

He closed his eyes, drawing out the faraway memories and trying to keep his emotions in check. "I did not lie when I told you I was born in a remote village with little to entertain me as a child." He brushed one hand idly along his other bicep, recalling his mother's caress, her smile. The sound of his father's rich voice speaking in elven seemed to caress his ears. Clinging to those memories, and restraining the less pleasant ones beneath them, he said, "I could not tell you of my past without revealing my origins. Much of my childhood was shaped by a world that no longer exists. It will be difficult to grasp, even now."

"Try me," she said, the water sloshing as she shifted in the enormous tub.

He smiled, but knew it would come across more as a grimace. "Very well. My parents were middle class, with merely average magical talent. My father served as a…" He frowned, struggling to find the correct term. "An archivist within one of many interconnected Elvhen libraries." He paused, realizing he had to explain that this wasn't a _physical_ place within the waking world. "The library was a construct, much like the Crossroads."

"And your mother?" Ellana asked.

"My mother managed the crops in our village." He laughed at her surprised look. "Elvhenan was not without the need for food. Far from it, in fact. Even then we could not subsist from magic alone—save some in the deep sleep of uthenera. Magic aided in the harvests and in growing the crops, but there remained plenty of toiling work to be done. The nobility and Evanuris ruled over vast wilderness with many farming communities like my village. They collected tithes from us in the form of food."

"That doesn't sound all that different from the way Thedas operates now," Ellana commented. "Except that magic was more widespread." She was silent a moment, her expression pensive. "There were no non-mages? None at all?"

"None," he confirmed with a nod and then dropped his gaze to the floor. "And the Fade was part of the waking world. But you would never have mistaken Elvhenan for Ferelden or Orlais or even Tevinter." He felt the old rage rise in his blood, hot and roiling inside. "We used slaves, and not as they do in Tevinter. The Evanuris bound thousands with vallaslin and in those days they used blood in the marks. It was blood magic. It stripped those branded by the marks of any free thought or passion."

"It was blood magic?" Ellana asked, her voice breathy with horror. He heard her move in the tub and when he looked saw her touching her forehead where her own vallaslin had once been. "Fenedhis."

"Blood writing," he whispered, the literal translation of vallaslin. "Yes. I do not know how the ink is made now, but in the days of Elvhenan the Evanuris oversaw each and every marking and bound the slave to them with their own blood." He sneered at the memory, his hands curling into fists.

"How could my people have forgotten something so awful?" Ellana asked, her voice strangled.

Solas smiled bitterly. "I have often wondered the same thing." At the sight of her horrified expression he let the rage evaporate, shaking his head. "Forgive me, I have strayed from our original conversation. It is difficult to revisit these memories."

"Your family was like Dorian's?" she asked. "You kept slaves?"

"No," he answered with a frown and a shake of his head. "Not…truly. We served Elgar'nan and each year he sent a hundred slaves to aid in the harvest. My mother had charge of them and despised every moment of it. She was a kindhearted but pragmatic woman, a lover of nature who spent a millennia wandering the wilds before she settled in our village with my father. Together they shared a love of knowledge and peace."

She smiled at him, her eyes bright. "You take after them both, then."

He chuckled and shifted position, moving to sit on the edge of the tub to ease the strain in his back and legs. "Mostly after my mother. My father was a very patient man, but my mother had the brash temper of a dragon." Something in his chest fluttered, remembering them as he hadn't allowed himself to do for millennia. To speak his true story aloud to anyone, even before uthenera, had been unthinkable until now. He found himself feeling lightheaded with relief as a weight he hadn't realized he carried eased from his shoulders. Speaking of them now brought them to life again, made them real, but he had to quash the pain that came with it to keep Ellana from seeing it.

"How did you grow from being the child of a librarian and a farmer into becoming one of the Evanuris?" Ellana asked, the dismay in her voice making it almost a whisper.

This would be tougher to explain to her, so Solas remained silent, contemplating for several heartbeats. Finally he said, "The People were all mages in the days of Elvhenan, as you know. But the Evanuris possessed truly godlike reserves. Imagine a mage who could turn you to stone with but a thought. And in the world of Elvhenan they could reshape the physical realm using the Fade, just as I can with dreams now. On the field of battle, Mythal and Elgar'nan could turn the air to water and drown entire armies. They could crack open the earth or lash it with fire sprung from nowhere."

She shuddered, clutching more tightly to her knees in the bath. "I'm starting to think you did the world a great favor, Solas."

Solas shook his head, rejecting her praise. "You do not understand. Elvhenan was built on magic in every way. We constructed our homes with it, we lit the world with it, even designed other realms like the libraries and the Crossroads. War was bloody and brutal—but so are the wars of this age. These tactics sound terrifying to you because they are foreign, but when I awoke and learned of all the ways non-mages use to bludgeon, bleed, and hack one another limb from limb…at least magic is precise and kills swiftly. "

At her look of consternation he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I have strayed again. I told you of Mythal and Elgar'nan so that you could understand that the Evanuris were unlike any mages of this day…" He raised his head and looked to her, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. "Save one."

Her green eyes widened with disbelief. "Solas, are you telling me you can…that you are…"

He nodded once but did not smile as her jaw dropped. The shock in her face made his stomach twist and he turned his head to the bath oils to evade her stare, shoulders slumping. "I became one of the Evanuris because I _am_ one of them. In Elvhenan the term referred to power as much as godhood."

"You cannot be that powerful," Ellana said, breathless with disbelief. "I have seen you injured. I've seen you weakened…"

"I am not as powerful as I once was, no. The long sleep and the Veil have weakened me greatly. And I have always been vulnerable to physical injury, but…" He smiled, lopsided and almost sheepish. "It was not only my past I hid as we defeated Corypheus."

She groaned, raising one hand to rub at her forehead. The sight and sound of her distress made Solas cringe, regretting that he'd revealed this truth to her. In just the course of one day he'd gone from being a harmless wandering apostate, quiet and reserved and of average magic talent, to being the trickster god her people most feared—and having the enormous powers that came with it. He rushed to apologize yet again. "I'm sorry, vhenan. I know this must be difficult to accept."

"That's an understatement," she said and relaxed backward in the tub, letting out a long breath and sinking in to her chin, eyes closing. "I still can't believe I've been in love with a god all this time and had no idea."

The words hit him like a slap and he cringed, feeling his cheeks heat at the reminder of how long and how deeply he had betrayed her. _You do not deserve her, trickster,_ a little voice taunted him inside with the truth. He felt sweaty suddenly with the fear that she would change her mind and reject him. He would never hold her again, never get the chance to hold or see his child, regardless of what he did as Fen'Harel in this present world.

The idea made him feel sick.

"I promised you the truth," he said, his voice raw. "And I meant it." There was a pressure in his chest, a desire to keep speaking, to open up and explain more. She still didn't understand so much about Elvhenan—both its horrors and its glories. But he restrained himself, determined not to overwhelm her and risk losing their relationship and his child.

"I appreciate it," she said, her smile uncertain but her eyes tender with affection. "It's just a lot to take in." She nudged a clump of bubbles around idly for a moment before asking, "How is it that one of the Evanuris could be born to such humble parents? You said your parents were of average magical talent?"

"Yes," he confirmed with a small nod. "If they lived in this world they may not have even manifested magical talent naturally. When my talents emerged they were shocked. They did not realize I possessed power to equal the Evanuris, but they knew I would be taken from them if I were discovered."

"Taken from your parents?" Ellana asked, alarm and confusion coloring her features. "Why would they take you from your family if everyone was a mage?"

This was another way her world was markedly different from Elvhenan and yet, in a bizarre mockery of the past, it was also the same. "Dreamer mages comprised Elvhenan's upper class and they were often born to middle or lower class families. They were prized by the Evanuris like good horses or other beasts of burden," Solas explained. "We needed those skills for work in cities like Arlathan, not out in the fields or in the libraries. The greater the power of the Dreamer, the higher the class they will be assigned."

He paused, pinning her with his gaze to make sure she understood. "It was not a choice, vhenan. Although I would live in luxury, I would still be little better than one of Elgar'nan's slaves in the fields. I would never be free to do as I liked. I would be put to work, serving the People, most likely claimed by Elgar'nan like chattel. I would not see my parents often because they were lower class. And if I dared cause trouble or shirk my duty it would be those I loved, not myself, who would pay the price. My parents encouraged me to hide my talents to allow me to have a choice."

She shook her head, rippling the water. "Solas," she said, barely breathing his name. "This is the world you would bring back?"

"No," he said, shooting her a glare. "I would restore the simplicity of the middle class only—a life with small communities such as your clan."

"You wouldn't be able to stop the reshaped world from repeating the same mistakes," she said, frowning. "Surely you must see that, emma lath."

He stared at the cerulean tiles in the counter the tub was mounted into and tried not to think or feel anything, not to react at all. Waking from uthenera to discover magic and elves alike oppressed had been a shock, motivating him from the start to seek a way to tear down the Veil and undo it. Yet he'd also seen the way history warped memory and twisted motives over and over again. The Seekers of Truth. The Wardens. The Chantry. Elvhenan. Everything started out well, but fell apart over time, growing corrupt and turning a blind eye to the downtrodden and their suffering.

He knew he could not stop that by tearing down the Veil and remaking the world, even if he survived doing it to preside over his creation. But at least the world would be whole again, complete with the Fade overlaying it, and the People would not face a slow extinction at the hands of humans—and they'd be immortal, the sole race to possess such a gift.

"I would not restore the Elvhenan Empire," he explained. "And I could not prevent future corruptions. You are correct." He looked at her, feeling his eyes burning with emotion. "But if I do nothing we will fade like morning mist. Our people rely on the magic of the Fade, and I took it from them. We have been dying ever since."

She moved through the water, sloshing and splashing slightly as she reached one hand out to take his. The warm wetness of her touch and the sight of her lithe, naked body reawakened his desire despite the somberness of the conversation. Her green eyes gazed up at him, soft and sympathetic and beautiful.

"There must be a better way. Cassandra, Rainier, Cullen, Josephine, Leliana—all of the others—they do not deserve subjugation beneath our People."

"I did not say they did," Solas murmured, brow furrowing. "And I would not wish to see them harmed, but I am not naïve. There will always be those who are subjugated and repressed. Our only hope is to minimize it. But I would see the People elevated. It is the humans who are the trespassers to Thedas. I cannot allow compassion for our companions make me forget this as the truth it is."

He brought his other hand to her cheek, caressing the soft skin. "I remember an age when our people did not speak Common at all, when we had never met humans. I was an oddity in Arlathan's court for knowing even a few phrases of Common from my wanderings. It was not until uthenera that I learned it properly in the Fade."

"Arlathan's court," she repeated, closing her eyes and leaning into his hand. She smirked. "I knew you were too comfortable in the winter palace."

He smiled down at her, longing making his heart hammer. The floral smell rose up from her skin, inviting and tempting. "Yes," he murmured. "I have had some practice at it. There was a time when I was the talk of the court, just as you are now."

He could still remember the sheer, silken gowns of the noblewomen as they eyed him from the crowds at sumptuous parties at art galleries and theaters. In those days the whispers had been of the Lone Wolf, the mysterious Dreamer who'd rejected the upper class in favor of the wilds and the spirits of the Fade—considered an odd choice even among the ancient Elvhen in the nobility's eyes. He'd met Mythal in that court and fallen under her protection and tutelage. It'd been Mythal who finally saw through his guarded nature and realized he was not merely a powerful Dreamer but a full-blown Evanuris who'd somehow escaped detection.

And from there it'd all started crashing down…

"Did you ever take a bond partner?" she asked quietly. "Did you have children?" She hesitated a moment and then revised the question with a timid smile. "Other children. Before."

He chuckled. "No, vhenan. To both questions." He didn't reveal that children were rare among the upper classes because they so often disappointed their parents when they did not have the same magical capacity and would be relegated to the middle class or worse upon reaching adulthood. Instead he told her, "I was much like Commander Cullen is now. There were many proposals from the upper class and I spent most of my time evading them. There was a reason they called me the Lone Wolf then."

"He Who Hunts Alone," Ellana said, laughing. "My Keeper sometimes called Fen'Harel that."

"She would be wrong now," Solas replied somberly, gazing into her eyes and inching closer.

"Well, you could still be He Who Bathes Alone. So, are you going to enjoy this bath with me, Dread Wolf, or am I going to get wrinkly and cold waiting on you?" She grinned, her eyes bright with humor—and desire.

Excitement leaped in his belly, like a wolf pouncing on a hare. He kissed her suddenly, breathing fast with hunger. She rose onto her knees, meeting his desire with her own, wet hands smelling of flowers as she dug into his collar. Solas caressed one hand up her back, feeling over the little valley of her spine as his heart drummed in his ears.

She moaned at his touch, shivering, and tugging at his clothing. Solas broke the kiss to shed his over-coat, tunic, and leggings before slipping into the bath. Ellana watched him, a mischievous smile on her face. The water was still warm and rich with the floral scent of the soaps and oils Ellana had been using. He truly was in need of a bath, coated with sweat from the long, hot day and the short battle at the Crossroads, but Ellana was in his lap before he could give it more than a passing thought. He wound his arms around her waist, his hands sliding low.

Her hands cupped his cheeks as she straddled him, staring into his eyes. Solas could see the love in her stare and it set his body aflame with want for her. He captured her lips again, one hand moving to gently caress her breast and then trace its way along her shoulder and to her neck and arm. Ellana moaned once more, shifting to ease herself down, taking him inside her. The heat of her body over him stole his breath, making him gasp, breaking their sloppy kiss.

"This is what I wanted to do last night," she whispered into his ear.

He moaned, kissing her neck. "How can I make it up to you?"

"I have a few ideas," she murmured, her chuckle like a purr. She rocked her hips, making the water slosh rhythmically and obliterating his thoughts as the pleasurable sensation built. He moved with her, angling his hips and helping support her with one hand while the other stroked its way up and down her body, delighting him when she shivered.

"I have many talents," he told her, husky with his increasing arousal. "But omniscience is not one of them." He nibbled at her ear and felt her shudder in his arms, moaning. "Dirthera," he said, the word ragged as his breath caught in his throat.

She turned her head, kissing him as she pumped her hips over him at a faster pace, sliding over his length and grinding against him, then repeating it in a rhythm. As he gasped, struggling to keep his eyes open and his mind coherent, she grinned. "Is the Dread Wolf giving the Herald of Andraste orders now?"

"You…would not…listen," he struggled to say through the waves of pleasure. He gnashed his teeth, determined to delay and focus on her. His hand on her hip tightened, trying to slow her hips while the other dove between her legs. As he rubbed two fingers over her, back and forth, Ellana cried out with the heightened pleasure, rocking against his hips and his fingers. Her hands gripped into fists on his shoulders and her eyes rolled backward, the lids fluttering.

The sight and sound of her pleasure threatened to undo him, making his mouth water and his breathing stagger. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her throat to trail kisses up her smooth skin. He continued the swirling motion of his fingers, teasing and stroking as Ellana's hips made the water slosh around them in the tub.

She set the pace, pumping faster and moaning. Solas wrestled with his own pleasure as it built, spiraling on itself. He let out only the occasional grunt as he held back the tide of his own orgasm by reaching for the magic in his core each time he neared the precipice. It was just enough to distract him and delay for her.

Then Ellana's features twisted as if with pain and she cried out, her muscles seizing over his length and snapping taut. As her cries filled the room, echoing from the walls, Solas let go of his own control and let the pleasure swell until it burst over him as well. He grunted, breathing raggedly against her skin and shuddering. Ellana cradled his head, leaning into his upper body, sighing with each exhalation.

As the euphoria and lassitude settled over him, Solas suddenly felt the press of hot tears behind his eyes—from joy and relief. If he hadn't known better from many years of experience, he would've believed this wasn't reality, _couldn't_ be reality. At any moment he might awaken and discover it was all a hallucination and he'd never left uthenera, never found such a miraculous woman who could love him in spite of what he'd done to the world and their people.

And in that moment he was both whole and shattered at once as he realized he could never choose the People over her. He couldn't lie to himself. He'd grown selfish, and in so doing he'd condemn the People to die.

 _No,_ he thought, taking in a quavering breath. _I will find a way to save them both._

He moved one hand through the water, brushing his fingers and then his palm lazily over her navel as the pressure of his emotions continued to pulsate through his blood. In the back of his mind he could feel Fen'Harel writhing in rage, but this was Solas' moment, not the Dread Wolf's.

Ellana shifted, pulling away enough to stare into his face, searching over him with a look of concern as she registered his distress. "Solas?" she asked. Her cheeks were flushed red from lovemaking, her pupils dilated.

"Ma serannas, vhenan," he whispered, swallowing to try and get rid of the painful lump in his throat. "You have given me hope."

One of her hands moved to cover his over her abdomen and squeezed as she smiled. "You give yourself too little credit. There was always hope." She leaned close, resting her forehead against his. "There will always _be_ hope."

At that instant, both Solas and Fen'Harel could believe her. Solas kissed her, pouring his gratitude into it and cherishing the moment for fear it would soon leave him.

____________________________________________

**Next Chapter teaser:  
**

"You removed the Inquisitor's tattoos," Dorian said and then twisted his head to look at Solas with narrowed eyes. "Where _did_ you learn such a spell?"

Solas smiled, open and friendly, beyond guile and suspicion. "I encountered a human mage in the Free Marches who made a living removing ink and blemishes from the skin of anyone who could afford his services."

"How did you pay for it?" Dorian asked, shaking his head. "You were a wandering apostate. What currency did this man want? Sticks and stones? Mud and muck?" The doubt in Dorian's face was easy to read, though he passed it off with his usual humor. "Sexual favors?"


	9. Frilly Cakes and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Dorian clear out Fen'Harel's sanctuary of the Qunari scum squatting there. Ellana realizes Solas has a connection to the Conclave explosion.

At midday the Exalted Council broke for recess and Ellana stumbled out of the pavilion with her head swimming in a fog of irritation and thirst. The day was quickly growing oppressively hot and humid, making her thick formalwear feel heavy and suffocating. Bodyguards accompanied her like twin shadows, their gaits stiff and their backs ramrod straight. Ellana led them through the now familiar corridors to the study where she'd been meeting in private with her advisors regarding the Qunari plot.

The bodyguards opened the door for her but stayed outside as she entered. Inside the study she saw a tray with ice water and tea had been laid out along with a platter of lunch dishes—pastas smothered in fragrant cheeses and dessert with Val Royeaux's famous little frilly cakes. She almost groaned with relief, her mouth instantly flooding with saliva. Scattered around the table she also saw Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, and a newcomer, an elven woman in a simple blue-gray dress waiting for her.

"Inquisitor," Josephine greeted her, motioning to the food and drink at the table. "I know you must be famished, but I hoped we might have a word."

Peeling her attention away from the frilly little cakes, Ellana looked to where Josephine stood beside the unfamiliar elven woman. "Yes?"

"Inquisitor, may I introduce Inan," Josephine said, motioning to the elven woman who dropped into a bow from the waist.

"Your Worship," Inan said.

"Pleased to meet you," Ellana said with a nod before sneaking another longing look at the frilly cakes on the table. Leliana was standing beside the window opposite her, a little smile on her lips as she followed Ellana's gaze knowingly. Cullen was off to Ellana's right, standing stiff as if mildly uncomfortable. _What's up with the commander?_ She wondered.

"Inan is a healer," Josephine explained, clearing her throat to regain Ellana's focus. "I thought you might wish to have a physician on hand…considering." The ambassador smiled graciously to overcome her embarrassment as they skirted around the topic of Ellana's pregnancy. The elven healer was already sizing Ellana up with an appraising eye that lingered at her slim waist.

Now Ellana understood Cullen's discomfort as the only man in the room. She almost smirked with humor but kept her expression neutral as she dismissed the healer, promising to call on her later… _after_ she'd asked Solas if Inan was trustworthy.

Once she and her advisors heard the door to the study open and close, signaling that they were at last alone, Ellana moved to eat. She kept swallowing mouthfuls of spit, her stomach gnawing on itself with impatience. At least right now she wasn't feeling nauseous. She scooped pasta onto her plate, eyes widening at the stringy cheeses. The clan never ate food this rich and usually Ellana didn't either but the _smell_ was heavenly.

Cullen sighed suddenly, shaking his head. "I'll come right out with it, Inquisitor. I don't approve of this operation in this Crossroads. And…" He rubbed at his neck with one hand, averting his gaze as if suddenly bashful. "…I don't trust Solas."

Ellana's enthusiastic work with the spoon in the pasta slowed as she stared at her commander. "I'm listening," she said, trying to keep her face open and encouraging.

"Divine Victoria told me he cast a spell yesterday that she's never seen before," Cullen explained, gesturing with his hands to emphasize. "I understand he has a remarkably different background from any Circle mage, but what I find disconcerting is that we had not seen this before."

"I agree," Leliana added with a nod in Cullen's direction. "From what I heard the spell was most impressive, too." She asked Ellana, "Did you see it, Inquisitor?"

"I did," she replied. They were trying to turn her suspicions, convince her to either open to them with any additional information Solas had given her, or they merely wanted to warn her against trusting him. Ellana used her food as a distraction, shoveling a few bites into her mouth and closing her eyes with pleasure at the burst of flavor over her tongue.

"Did you not think it unusual?" Leliana prodded.

She half-shrugged, feigning nonchalance while frantically digging through her mind for a way to defuse her advisors' distrust. _Don't reveal that your lover's the Dread Wolf_ kept repeating inside her head unhelpfully. As soon as she'd swallowed her latest mouthful she said, "Solas spent months with the sentinel elves. He's probably learned a few new spells from them. Whatever it was, I'm glad for it because it took out a Qunari spearman before he could harm Cassandra."

Cullen squirmed, shifting his position, always uncomfortable at the prospect of new and dangerous magic that was without control. "While I appreciate that he was obviously fighting on our side, I still have reservations about this operation in the Crossroads."

Ellana arched an eyebrow, unable to contain her annoyance now. "Is it the operation in the Crossroads, Commander, or is it the Inquisition mages?" That morning she had ordered a group of mages who'd remained with the Inquisition to fight the Qunari in the Crossroads under Dorian and Solas' command. They'd left through the eluvian hours ago, but they would return by nightfall if all went according to plan.

Cullen scowled. "Inquisitor, please see reason…"

Leliana cut in, shooting Cullen a glare. "What the commander is _trying_ to say is we cannot help but be concerned with what's been happening. We all trust your judgment and Solas has been a valuable member of the Inquisition for three years now, but he is…something of a mystery to us." She let out a little huff, her shoulders slumping. "I am sorry, but I took the liberty of sending my scouts to investigate what little I do know of Solas' background and…"

_Oh no,_ Ellana thought and knew her face had revealed her as Leliana broke off, watching her.

"You already know, don't you?" Leliana asked.

"What did you find?" Josephine asked from her side of the table, off to Ellana's left. Apparently Leliana hadn't briefed the ambassador as she looked alarmed, her eyes wide and her lips parted as she stared at the others.

Cullen, for his part, wore a deep frown and stared at the food on the table as if the frilly cakes had insulted his honor. Ellana shoveled more food in her mouth, cursing herself for being so easy to read.

Leliana turned her head, speaking to Josephine. "My scouts uncovered the village Solas told us he was from but it was ruins and had been so for centuries."

"More lies," Cullen said, snarling. "But why?"

Ellana coughed, choking on a noodle and setting her plate down as she scrambled, reaching for the pitcher of ice water to pour herself a glass. After she'd finished drinking she caught her breath and reluctantly faced her advisors, all three of whom were watching and waiting on her reaction. Their knowing gazes skipped over her and Ellana felt her cheeks heat up. Were they wondering if she'd willingly blinded herself to her lover's lies, or did they suspect she knew the answers and withheld them to the Inquisition's detriment? How long until they'd turn on her? She couldn't help but think that if she'd been human they'd be less upset, more inclined to allow her to maintain Solas' privacy.

"I suggest we ask Solas about this," Ellana said, sighing. "But I'd like to reiterate that whatever Solas' reasons are, he has served us for years now and continues to do so willingly. He came to us a lone apostate when Haven was a Chantry stronghold that would have locked him in a Circle tower at any other time."

She shook her head, glaring at each of them in turn. "He's told me that before I woke up Cassandra threatened his life. I'm sure he suspected he'd be pursued if he did flee and had given you any hint as to where to search." Rash anger made her sweat as she went on. "And look how fast you fall to doubting him! As if he's not the same man who saved my life at Haven and helped us close the Breach and kill Corypheus."

"But he could have been honest with us once Corypheus was dead," Cullen insisted with a sideways slash of his hand. Leliana nodded in agreement.

"And risk getting himself locked in a Circle tower or kicked out?" Ellana asked, brow knitting. "Solas has not been entirely truthful with us, no, but that doesn't mean he is no longer worthy of our trust and respect." Despite her own words and passionate defense of him, Ellana felt a bubble of dark amusement underlying it all. What would her Keeper say if she could hear one of her hunters advising humans to trust the Dread Wolf?

Leliana had averted her gaze, her mouth twisting with some unreadable, negative emotion. Cullen's expression held traces of remorse and embarrassment and he'd fallen to rubbing one hand at the back of his neck again.

Josephine said, "I agree with you, Inquisitor. Solas has been nothing but helpful. Surely we can afford more trust than this after three years?"

"Forgive me, Inquisitor," Cullen said. "I meant nothing by it."

Leliana smiled, the same coy look she'd given Solas when she knew he'd been lying yesterday morning. "You're right, Inquisitor. Of course."

_Great,_ Ellana thought and started eating again to keep herself from frowning with disappointment.

_________________________________________

The guardian spirits of Revasan prowled around the tower, restless and watchful even though Solas had already given them his secret greeting to make them stand down. Some of the mages who'd accompanied him were elven and likely understood a smattering of the words he used, but it was unavoidable. If he hadn't greeted the spirits properly they'd have attacked the mages with him—though they wouldn't harm Solas because they recognized him as the one who'd bound them so long ago.

They'd been slogging through Revasan, routing the Qunari who'd set up in the sanctuary. In his sleep the night before Solas had ordered Mathrel and Lyris to join in their assault and he'd met up with them outside the mirror leading to Revasan that very morning. He could feel Dorian and the other mages inspecting him and these new barefaced elves with suspicion or curiosity, seeing the way the two arcane warriors deferred to him like the loyal soldiers they were.

Counting Dorian, Ellana had sent six mages to aid in the Qunari cleanup. Two were elven, the rest humans. They stood around the tower now, whispering with wonder at the distant, empty hills and the lush forest as they ate and drank from trail rations. A few of them took lyrium infusions for the big push to come when they moved on the central sanctuary situated on the lake. Sentinel elves had sabotaged the Qunari on the lake the previous day, ensuring they no longer had gaatlok canons to fire on the towers, but there were still plenty of warriors entrenched there.

Much to Solas' annoyance, Dorian seemed glued to him like his shadow, refusing to give him any chance to speak alone with Mathrel or Lyris. "This is quite the place you've found here," he said with his usual blend of humor and witty snobbery. "A bit rustic, but charming nonetheless. I especially like the magical murals. I'd hire the designer to decorate—if he weren't ages dead, of course."

_She,_ Solas corrected him internally. And of course the artist, Lanya, was still alive, though he could never reveal that to Dorian. Solas ignored Dorian's blathering, surveying the lake with the island at its center in the distance with narrowed eyes. Millennia ago Solas had _built_ this place, shaping the real world with his will and the help of the Fade. Now that past life seemed dreamlike, as if he'd imagined it or watched it in memories in the Fade.

Lyris and Mathrel lingered behind him, tense and watchful, while Dorian stood to his left with his arms crossed and picking at his manicured nails. The wind whipped by them, tugging at their clothes and whistling in a mournful wail.

"So," Dorian said, looking behind Solas, his voice bored. "You both are sentinel elves? You're not marked like the Dalish. Weren't the elves at the temple of Mythal marked?"

Solas didn't need to see the arcane warriors' expressions to know they'd be scowling at Dorian, unamused and uninterested in his questions. Sure enough he heard Mathrel's armor clink as he shifted his posture and spat off the edge of the tower, cursing in elven and then adding, "Shem."

"Ooookay," Dorian drawled with a disgusted sigh. "Solas, how long have you been with this lot? Can't you teach them some manners? Do they speak Common at all?"

"They do indeed," Solas replied, flashing a crooked, dry smile. "But you must remember, they have had little interaction with humans."

"How did you come to lead them?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow.

_A very good, very dangerous question, Tevinter._ He glanced at Dorian, smiling as open and friendly as he could manage. "We have other matters requiring our attention."

Dorian let out a quick, high-pitched laugh. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Squaring his shoulders and tucking his hands behind his back, Solas said, "Call the others. It's time we took the sanctuary."

"What sort of _sanctuary_ is this place, anyway? Why use it as your base of operations?" Dorian asked, both his voice and his expression irritable. "And why keep the Inquisitor away from this place?"

"Your understanding is not required," Solas retorted, cold and firm.

"Yes," Dorian growled. "I've noticed." His brown eyes flicked to Lyris and Mathrel. "Fortunately for me, I am not one of your little minions the way these two are. The Inquisitor charged us both with leading the Inquisition mages here. So, unless you start playing nice I'm going to take my merry band of mages and head back. You can give my regards to the Qunari on the lake. Try not to take one of their horns through the belly. It'd be a pity to stain the place."

Clenching his jaw, Solas restrained the angry words crouched on the tip of his tongue and instead dipped his chin to acknowledge Dorian's power over the situation. "Very well—this is a sanctuary for elven refugees fleeing a war. That is all I know."

"The war with the Imperium?" Dorian asked, gazing with renewed interest at the tower.

Mathrel cursed again and spat, drawing a look of revulsion from Dorian.

"A civil war," Solas answered. "At least, that is what I have gathered from Abelas and the memories in the Fade here." He motioned up the short stair to where the Fen'Harel mural waited, glimmering and green in the afternoon sunlight. "Now, if you're satisfied, there is work to be done. Please call the others."

"Quite," Dorian grumbled, shooting Solas a glare before he whipped on his heel and strode to gather the others.

With the Tevinter mage's back turned, Solas strode up the stairs and quickly deactivated the mural, banishing it. The arcane warriors followed, silent and brooding. He had not had a chance to reveal to them any of the details of his alliance with the Inquisition, though he'd warned all of the elves serving him in the Crossroads via their dreams not to address him as Fen'Harel unless alone. Mathrel and Lyris were some of his closest allies—friends as much as soldiers, really—but their long background with him meant they accepted vagueness and silence as second nature to him and vital for the safety of their plans. He owed them no explanations beyond the necessary.

Still, he found himself wanting to reassure them, Lyris in particular, that he'd secured Ellana's support and disclosed his identity. Such news, though unnecessary for obedience, would bolster his position, even if they considered Ellana beneath them as a non-Elvhen elf. They knew the Inquisition would prove a powerful ally and that Fen'Harel had juggled such alliances before, moving freely between different forces.

Not to mention if a modern elf—a _Dalish_ elf—could choose to follow the Dread Wolf…who _wouldn't_? Among elves, anyway.

Dorian reappeared, his expression tight and grim with the nearness of battle. The Inquisition mages stood behind him, stoic and tense.

"Lyris and Mathrel will lead," Solas said and motioned through the entry and down the short stair to the eluvian. "Dorian and I will follow. Be wary, the Qunari here employ mages as well."

The arcane warriors pivoted and made their way to the mirror, passing through it with none of the caution Solas had seen from the Inquisition mages. Solas feigned less comfort with the mirror as he stepped through it, walking a tad slower and with one hand out as if to prevent himself from falling or stumbling.

Then he was on the other side of the shattered bridge stretching across the lake, midday sun glaring into his eyes from a different direction now. Five Qunari roared and shouted in Qunlat just ahead where the stone of the bridge changed to grass as it met the island in the lake. Lyris and Mathrel were already cutting into one of the warriors with their spectral blades, whipping and dodging in a Fade stepping dance. The sight made his heart pound, a feral grin spreading over his lips at the ancient memories of Elvhen glory. These tactics would _not_ be forgotten…

He cast a barrier over them and Fade stepped forward, flinging fireballs before he'd even exited the lunge. Three of the advancing Qunari went down while Mathrel and Lyris quickly slaughtered the remaining two that'd reached them. This first skirmish was over before Dorian and the Inquisition mages had completely emerged through the eluvian, but a dozen more Qunari charged at them over the grass, spears and swords raised to fight.

The hodgepodge group of mixed mages swarmed over their opposition, with Lyris and Mathrel cutting down any who drew close enough to pose a threat. But archers fired from inside the sanctuary itself and eventually a barrier failed at just the wrong moment and a human mage took an arrow to his shoulder. He screeched with pain, stumbling to his knees.

Dorian immediately sprang to his side, stooping to help the other man. "A little help over here!"

With a grunt of effort, Solas summoned firestorm on the archers, bombarding them with a rain of fireballs. As the archers cowered and panicked, catching fire or trying to flee, Lyris and Mathrel charged forward. Their voices rang out in a war song in elven that made Solas' skin prickle with gooseflesh.

Yet more Qunari rallied ahead, rushing to meet them. Dorian and the Inquisition forces regrouped around their wounded comrade, covering for him as one of them knelt to remove the arrow and cast a healing spell over him. Solas hesitated, torn momentarily between helping the Inquisition mages and rushing forward.

He caught Dorian's irritated glance and heard the Tevinter mage shout, "Stop the sentinels! Those fools will get themselves killed!"

Before Dorian had even finished speaking, Solas Fade stepped forward, falling in behind Lyris and Mathrel. He cast a stronger barrier over their group as archers from wooden scaffolding inside the sanctuary began shooting at them. The first arrows bounced off the blue-green light of Solas' barrier. A spear followed, also glancing off it.

Lyris let out a shout, clenching her hand into a fist as she froze a Qunari warrior rushing at them and lunged with her spectral blade, shattering the horned giant. The Qunari behind the now dead frozen warrior raced past his fallen comrade but Solas hurled Fade stone at him, clobbering him with a spray of blood. He fell, dead.

" _Fen'Harel vir'enasalin!"_ Lyris shouted, a war cry Solas hadn't heard since before the long sleep of uthenera. He hoped Dorian and the Inquisition mages hadn't caught the name amidst the other elven words.

As Lyris and Mathrel charged, Solas surged ahead with them, maintaining the barrier and casting a powerful veilstrike to knock the enemy archers from the scaffolding. Once they fell Solas ignited a fire mine over them, setting the archers ablaze before they could even stand upright.

As three warriors closed on them the three Elvhen split up, Fade stepping in multiple directions. Solas dashed right, stopping near a now empty scaffold as two spearmen roared in Qunlat and charged for him. He used a focused veilstrike to knock the first Qunari's spear away, then hurled Fade stone at the warrior who hadn't thrown his spear. He cast another enormous fireball at the last remaining spearman, reducing him to ash in only a few heartbeats. As always the Veil strangled his drawdown of magic, leaving him dizzy when he'd cast too much too quickly. As soon as the Qunari went down he shook his head, powering through it.

From the entrance he heard Dorian shout, "Take that, you filth!" A Qunari spearman, the last enemy left alive, had charged at Dorian but now turned tail and fled as the horror spell—the Tevinter's specialty—took hold of him.

Solas casually flung Fade stone at the fleeing Qunari, killing him in one blow. Dorian's chain lightning crackled in the immediate aftermath, loud in the echoing silence now that the last Qunari was dead. Huffing, Dorian called out, "Did you _not_ see that that cretin was _mine?"_

"You were taking too long," Solas retorted. Surveying the Inquisition mages quickly, Solas saw the injured human was on his feet if a little haggard with lingering pain. The arrow had missed vital organs and arteries fortunately. "We should keep moving."

Dorian scoffed. "And here I thought perhaps we should stop for tea."

Mathrel grumbled again, glaring without amusement at Dorian's comment.

"I'm sorry, Solas," Dorian said, sniffing with a little wrinkle in his nose as he stared at Mathrel. "But I seem to have offended your…minion. Charming fellow. In addition to lacking manners he seems to have no sense of humor either."

" _Venavis,"_ Solas ordered Mathrel and the arcane warrior nodded, though his lips pinched in an unhappy line. Lyris smirked but stayed silent.

They strode onward, Solas leading now at a brisk pace. At the far end of the sanctuary a statue of the Dread Wolf waited with a half-circle wall covered in a mural. Several braziers lined the wall, only one of them currently lit with the blue-green glow of veilfire. Ahead the island and the sanctuary itself ended.

Solas knew a plaque on the wolf statue offered a hint at opening the secret passage below into the hidden armory where more Qunari had taken up residence, like spiders sheltering inside their webs. He tried to move quickly, hoping Dorian and the other Inquisition mages wouldn't pay much attention to the artwork on the wall. But he hadn't been lucky lately and wasn't the least bit surprised when Dorian immediately whistled with appreciation.

"This is remarkably well preserved," he commented, striding closer to have a better look, one hand at his chin.

"Fen'Harel," one of the elven Inquisition mages murmured, his eyes wide as he gazed between the statue and the mural. "The hahren of my alienage used to spin tales of the Dread Wolf."

Solas gnashed his teeth, forcing himself to pause as though with interest. The mural showed a man wearing a wolf headdress, which hid his eyes and nose but didn't cover the smile over his lips. One hand stretched out to an elf marked with vallaslin standing ahead of him, the lines from his face flowing to the wolf god's palm.

Solas' skin prickled with sweat. Dorian was as clever as he was conceited, and unlike Vivienne he'd probably heard more elven tales throughout his upbringing, considering his Tevinter heritage. How could he _not_ make the connection between this image of vallaslin removal and Solas, who'd removed Ellana's markings before they defeated Corpyheus? And, even worse, their experience with Corypheus had proven ancient beings from the distant past _could_ survive to the present, one way or another.

Knowing he had to make _some_ comment, Solas spoke, "Yes, I have seen this in the Fade. The vallaslin were slave markings."

"You removed the Inquisitor's tattoos," Dorian said and then twisted his head to look at Solas with narrowed eyes. "Where _did_ you learn such a spell?"

Solas smiled, open and friendly, beyond guile and suspicion. "I encountered a human mage in the Free Marches who made a living removing ink and blemishes from the skin of anyone who could afford his services."

"How did you pay for it?" Dorian asked, shaking his head. "You were a wandering apostate. What currency did this man want? Sticks and stones? Mud and muck?" The doubt in Dorian's face was easy to read, though he passed it off with his usual humor. "Sexual favors?"

Mathrel cursed again in elven, snarling at the perceived insult.

Solas shot Mathrel another warning look before turning his glare to Dorian. "Hardly. The man was another apostate, running from Templars. He was a generous spirit and we exchanged knowledge. You may call that payment if you wish. He shared with me the spell I used on the Inquisitor and I taught him an elven mana cleanse incantation."

In truth Solas was mixing fact with fiction, with ease and familiarity that could only be achieved by those who'd spent most of their lives doing it. He _had_ met an Elvhen middle class wanderer in the wilds after leaving his village and they _had_ exchanged knowledge and stories. It just hadn't been in the Free Marches or in this current age. Also, the spell the wanderer had taught Solas was incomplete, only removing the binding power of the blood in the vallaslin. He'd had to improve the spell on his own until he could completely erase the markings altogether.

"Ah," Dorian said, nodding, some of his suspicion draining away.

"This is Fen'Harel removing the vallaslin?" the other elven Inquisition mage asked from behind Solas. "The vallaslin were slave markings? But…why would the Dread Wolf do this? He was a villain."

Mathrel and Lyris stood beside the brazier that would open the secret passage when lit with veilfire, their faces set in hard, unreadable expressions. Solas snuck a sidelong look at them both, silently pleading them to light the brazier and provide a distraction. Then, once more, he gave in to his usual role as the historical teacher on all things Elvhen that he'd supposedly learned from the Fade.

"Perhaps the legends have warped over time," he suggested, adopting his passive scholar's tone. "There may be multiple individuals as well, as was likely the case with other wartime figures, like Shartan. A composite figure from a lost war who was venerated here for freeing slaves." He hoped that'd be enough to satisfy their questions and Dorian's lingering, suspicious frown.

Lyris motioned with her hands, summoning the green-blue glow of veilfire into the brazier. The Inquisition mages standing closer to the Dread Wolf statue gasped as its eyes lit up and a mechanism clicked. Stone ground against stone as the wolf statue rolled backward, exposing a descending stairwell leading into the darkened armory below.

"Fenedhis," one of the elven mages cursed.

Solas nodded his head toward Lyris. "Ma serannas," he thanked her and started to direct Dorian toward the stairwell. "We should investigate—"

"Free the slaves of all races living in Tevinter," Dorian said, staring at him.

Solas scowled. "…excuse me?" But even as he asked in genuine confusion his mouth went dry and his heart hammered in his chest.

"You said that to me, once. I was trying to apologize for Arlathan and you told me I wasn't sorry unless I freed the slaves in the Imperium. All of them." He flashed a slow smile. "You and the Dread Wolf sound like you would've gotten along splendidly."

"Unlikely. If he resembled the myths at all I would expect a cowardly traitor." He motioned at the mural. "We do not know that there is any truth in this. It may be propaganda." He shook his head. "But this conversation is pointless. We must continue—if you are ready, Tevinter."

Dorian smirked. "Of course I'm ready. Are _you_?"

__________________________________________

As darkness settled over Halamshiral the summit finally adjourned for the day and Ellana was ready to strangle the Ferelden ambassador with her bare hands. Her head felt thick and heavy with fatigue, but at least her stomach was settled and her appetite still hearty as she retired to her room and took dinner there.

Midway through her meal, an Inquisition scout informed her the mages sent through the eluvian had finally returned and Leliana wished to convene a meeting. Pushing aside her fatigue, Ellana let the scout escort her to the study where she found her advisors along with Solas waiting. The room had a tense stillness to it and Solas looked filthy with grit and a few bloodstains, but his body language told her he was uninjured.

"Inquisitor," Leliana greeted her with a nod. "I thought you'd wish to be present as we discuss the operation in the Crossroads."

_And your findings about Solas' village,_ Ellana thought but kept it to herself. She saw Josephine had prepared tea and left a tray with desserts—more frilly cakes. Though she'd just been eating, her mouth watered anew. Restraining the temptation, Ellana focused on the mages. "Anything interesting to report?"

"We had two injuries," Solas told her, his voice strong and authoritative—an elven reflection of Cullen. "Both minor. We cleared one Qunari base, but there are at least two others we must eliminate. They have a lyrium mining operation in the Deep Roads my people have been sabotaging for some time, but we have not been able to stop them. Attacking it will require significantly more men than we used today."

"A lyrium mine?" Ellana asked, shaking her head in consternation. "I thought only dwarves could mine it?"

Solas' expression darkened with dry humor. "The Qunari are nothing if not persistent. They have taken heavy losses, but through trial and error have managed to mine it, yes. With it they increase the power of the few saarebas they use against us."

"You suggest we focus our next assault on the lyrium mine?" Cullen asked from his spot to Ellana's right at the far end of the table.

"Yes," Solas answered, a polite smile in permanent place over his lips. "Once it has been eliminated the Qunari saarebas and operations as a whole will be weakened. With their limited magical understanding, the Qunari rely on lyrium as a crutch for enchanting and accessing the artifacts they have been collecting in their quest to activate more eluvians."

"I have seen to the removal of gaatlok barrels from the palace," Leliana said, her gaze flicking between Ellana and Solas, as if unsure who to report to. "And unfortunately I have received confirmation that gaatlok has turned up across Thedas at many noble houses." She sighed, shaking her head. "And in many cases, it was _our_ people who brought the barrels in."

"We must keep this quiet," Cullen said, a note of fear and urgency in his voice.

Josephine made a noise in her throat, as if in pain. All eyes flew to her as the ambassador shook her head, brow knit and her eyes flashing with distress. "How could we have let this happen?" she asked, dismayed. "Today the Inquisitor and I sat at the summit and argued for the good the Inquisition has done, but this would _ruin_ us. Ferelden would see us disbanded and only Orlais' lust for power because they hope to use us keeps them from turning against us as well. Divine Victoria cannot hope to—"

"Leliana and I are seeing to the traitors in our ranks," Cullen interrupted with a quick gesture. "We will tighten security in recruitment to ensure this doesn't happen again. We are doing all we can. What more would you have us do?"

Ellana glanced to Solas across the table and saw him watching her, his blue-gray eyes narrowed with sorrow. His lips were compressed in a line, as if holding back his own thoughts. She already knew what they would be and felt her shoulders sag.

Staring at the frilly cakes and the tea on the table, Ellana said, "Perhaps we should disband. Corypheus is dead, the Breach closed…"

"We must think about what is best for Southern Thedas," Cullen argued, his expression angry. "Ferelden is weak for all Arl Teagan's whining. Orlais is so busy throwing masquerades and parties that if the Qunari did invade they'd be caught by surprise. The Chantry might—"

"We won't decide this here," Ellana interrupted him. "But for now we keep the news of the gaatlok quiet. We don't want to start a riot or give Orlais reason to turn against us."

Solas let out a little huff, clearly disappointed. Cullen and Leliana both shot him quick looks, the commander's being one of hostility while the spymaster's remained unreadable. Ellana admired the frosting on the little cake closest to her, pretending she hadn't heard Solas' wordless rebuttal. Her limbs felt heavy, her chest oddly light as she sighed and decided to turn the conversation over to Leliana's suspicions—because it was what her advisors expected of her.

"Solas," she said, keeping her voice cool and distant. "Leliana reported some troubling news to me today."

He shifted in his spot, both hands disappearing behind his back. "Yes?" he asked and Ellana didn't miss the wariness in his voice.

Leliana took over. "My scouts found the village you claimed you grew up in." She was still smiling, subtle and deceptive considering their topic. "Care to explain why you told me you grew up in ruins that must be at least a thousand years old?"

Solas' face did not register surprise. He'd apparently expected this. The polite, friendly smile stayed in place. "My apologies, spymaster. I was determined to help close the Breach, but as both apostate and considering my background as a spy myself, I could not be forthright with you. My organization is a loosely connected one and I had been at Haven in the hopes of spying on the negotiations between mages and Templars." He motioned toward Ellana. "Much like the Inquisitor, or have you all forgotten that?" Breaking off for a moment, he shot her an apologetic look. "Ir abelas, Ellana."

Ellana nodded to acknowledge him but didn't say anything as she struggled to keep her expression neutral, hiding her own sudden doubts. Solas' presence at Haven hadn't been seen by anyone as more than good fortune or divine providence previously, and over the years since the conclave Ellana had given it precious little thought. Now she wondered if Solas' story was complete fabrication, though she wanted to laugh at the _divine_ providence idea. What if it hadn't been Solas at Haven, but Fen'Harel, enacting some scheme? Had Solas been there to spy on the conclave or had he somehow been connected with the Breach from the beginning? The possibility made her feel suddenly cold into her very bones.

"I would still like to know more of your network and its goals, Solas," Leliana insisted, a flash of irritation in her blue eyes. "And of your background."

"I second that," Cullen growled, snarling in Solas' direction.

Solas glared between them, his nose wrinkling slightly with the force of it. Then his eyes landed on her, a silent request for intercession. Ellana refused to look away, squaring her shoulders and clenching her jaw. The icy sensation in her veins seemed to pulse, making her body tense with the certainty that Solas still carried heavy secrets.

Seeing that she wasn't about to intervene, Solas seemed to calm. "Very well," he said, returning his gaze to Leliana. "But there is little to tell of me, personally. I was born in a remote community and when my father died in a hunting accident my mother sent me to an alienage in Ferelden. The hahren there hid my magical talent from the Templars when it manifested and bade me flee before I could be caught. He also provided me the names and location of a group of elves working to improve the lives of our people across Thedas. It was the spies who raised me and taught me magic, though every chance I could I returned to the wilds in search of ruins. I only took a leadership role after joining the Inquisition."

"How innocuous," Leliana murmured, still smiling. Ellana didn't miss the spymaster's quick glance at her, checking her reaction for a second before asking, "And what is this spy network called?"

Now anger darkened Solas' eyes, though he remained stoic and calm. "I would prefer not to divulge it. I have told you of myself and my involvement with them. I do not see how it has any bearing on the present. Surely our time would be better spent planning the assault on the Qunari lyrium mine?"

Solas' ease with lying left Ellana uncomfortable, as if her skin were suddenly too tight for her frame. She wrapped her arms around herself and drew in a silent, deep breath to calm her nerves. The voice of her Keeper chastised her: _You are disturbed that the Dread Wolf is such an accomplished liar? What did you expect, da'len?_

The dry laugh at her inner thoughts burst out of her before she could stop it, making Solas and her three advisors all stare at her, startled by the outburst. She recovered quickly, clearing her throat and gazing between all four people. "I'm sorry, I can't stop thinking about shoving one of these little cakes into Arl Teagan's face."

At the mixture of irritation, disapproval, and smirking she saw around the table—Josephine aghast, Solas smothering what might have been a genuine smile, Leliana annoyed at being interrupted and Cullen scowling—Ellana had to swallow down her groan of embarrassment. She'd been a constant mess of emotions since the summit started and it was incredibly annoying. The thought of slaughtering some Qunari to prevent war sounded like an excellent distraction and a great way to escape the oppressive boredom of politics.

She started fanning herself, fighting the hot blush stealing over her cheeks. "But to get back on topic—Solas is right. We need to focus on the present, not the past. Tonight we should declare another recess at the summit for tomorrow and possibly the day after. Then I will lead an assault on the lyrium mine with Solas' help. Commander Cullen, can you—"

"No, vhenan," Solas blurted, interrupting her using his pet name for her in public. He'd leaned over the table slightly to be closer to her. His eyes were crinkled at the outer corners, pinched with distress.

"No?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Didn't you just say we needed to take on this lyrium mine and we needed more people to do it?"

"Yes," he answered with a small nod, his lips twisting in a frown. "But there is no need for you to lead them. The Qunari plot your death in particular because they fear the Anchor and its connection to rifts. It is too dangerous."

Irritation lashed Ellana, sending a wave of heat through her that made her brow furrow and her mouth twist as if she'd tasted something foul. "Solas, I've faced countless enemies who wanted me dead, Anchor or no. I'm not about to sit back while—"

"Ellana," he said, his voice low and gruff as he leaned over the table, resting his palms on it. He opened his mouth to say more but his cheeks bloomed in red and he seemed to think better of it, shaking his head. Stepping backward from the table, Solas glanced around at her advisors and then to the floor as he cleared his throat. "Inquisitor, please reconsider."

She hesitated, her initial irritation cooling as she scrutinized Solas, wondering at his motivation. The leaden weight in her abdomen sprang into her awareness, drawing her mind to memories of clan life when another hunter had fallen pregnant and her bondmate became a paranoid wreck, worrying over her wellbeing. Was this Solas' thinking or was it more than that? Recalling his earlier fears about Elvhen magic affecting the Anchor, Ellana said, "Are you still worried about the Anchor destabilizing?"

"Yes…" he answered, but the way he dragged the word out made it clear there was more on his mind. Yet he stayed silent, his blue-gray eyes narrowed with unhappiness and his lips pinched together.

"Perhaps Solas is correct," Leliana added softly.

Josephine added, "Commander Cullen could lead the assault. That would accomplish the mission and it would keep the summit moving along and the ambassadors happy."

Cullen inhaled sharply, jutting out his chin. "I would be happy to do so." His brown eyes were soft as he met Ellana's stare. "You have only to give the word, Inquisitor."

Ellana sighed, looking to the frilly cake nearest to her and struggling to suppress the irritable press of her annoyance at all of them. Drumming the fingers of her right hand against her left bicep, she grumbled, "You're all becoming oppressively overprotective."

"I'm sure you would be more comfortable leading the summit rather than a battle," Josephine said with a gentle laugh.

Ellana lost her patience, groaning. "I'm pregnant, Josie, not an invalid."

At her bluntness Cullen made a choking sound suddenly, fidgeting and staring at the table with a grimace. Leliana and Josephine chuckled at his discomfiture. Solas remained stoic, though the tint of color in his cheeks had yet to fade. His gaze remained on her, as if everyone else had ceased to exist.

"Please, vhenan," he said, breaking his usual formality yet again in front of her advisors. She also noted that Leliana and Josephine covertly watched Solas, judging his reaction. Even her condition was part of the Game, fuel for it like tinder for a fire. Now, undoubtedly, they'd be judging him for loyalty and trustworthiness.

"I visited the Crossroads and I was fine," Ellana reminded him, lifting her left hand and displaying the palm, wriggling the fingers. "Are there Elvhen ruins in the Deep Roads?"

"There are some, yes," Solas said stiffly.

"And are they especially charged with magic?" she persisted. "Or are you just worrying? Do you know for sure the Anchor will destabilize the second I run across stray Elvhen magic? It did just fine in the temple of Mythal." She paused, eyes flicking quickly to her advisors, and then asked, "Or is there something you know about the Anchor that we don't?"

An expression of pain laced his features momentarily. He licked his lips before answering in a somber tone, "I do not know exactly how the Anchor will behave, vhen—Inquisitor. There is little Elvhen magic in the lyrium mine. You may visit it without any difficulty, but it is not a risk I would see you take."

Ellana read that answer as being an admission that his primary motivation was worry rather than hidden knowledge. Yet she made a mental note to ask him directly about the Anchor and his fortuitous presence at Haven during the conclave explosion. Considering what she now knew of him, it seemed _highly_ unlikely he didn't know more than he'd let on about the ancient Elvhen artifact that had the power to tear the Veil open…

_He was looking for the artifact,_ she realized, blinking. How had she not seen it sooner? The way he grieved its loss and had expressed such interest in it during their quest to defeat Corypheus…

Her head swimming, Ellana lurched for the table, grabbing at the cake on the tray. Taking a fork from nearby, she stabbed the cake and started eating.

"Inquisitor…?" Josephine asked, her voice worried.

After swallowing the heady, sugary mix of chocolate and toffee, Ellana used the fork to motion at Solas. "I don't care what you say—I want to see this lyrium mine for myself. And I am _not_ sitting on that damned Exalted Council tomorrow."

Solas flinched as if she'd struck him across the face, but he quickly regained his composure and gave her a little graceful bow. "By your leave, Inquisitor."

"Are you sure about this?" Leliana asked, shooting her a perplexed look. No doubt Leliana had read her reaction as being less about logic and more emotional—a reflection of her doubting Solas.

"Stop pestering me," Ellana grumbled around another bite. "I've made up my mind." She pulled out a chair and plopped into it, suddenly feeling weak in the knees. When had she gotten so hungry? Or was she just shaken to realize how much she _still_ didn't know about her lover? Staring at the cake, eating forkfuls with vigor, gave her a way to focus beyond the sudden cold, hollow shock that'd descended on her. "Josephine, please give my apologies to the ambassadors tomorrow. Oh, and I'll be eternally grateful if you'd make sure we always have these cakes."

Josephine dipped her head. "Of course, Your Worship."

"All right, meeting adjourned," Ellana said when her mouth was suitably empty to talk again. Her advisors filed out and Solas followed, his gait stiff and his expression dour. "Solas," she called him and he froze, his back to her. He twisted at the neck slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Inquisitor?"

She frowned, stabbing her fork into the center of the frilly cake as she glared at him, silent until she heard the last of her advisors file out. When she was certain they were alone, she said, "Tell me why you were at Haven just before the blast."

He faced forward again so she couldn't see his expression. His shoulders drooped and he lowered his head, sullen. "The orb Corypheus used at the Conclave was mine, vhenan."

Staring at his back, Ellana felt abruptly nauseous. This was worse than what she'd expected. "You were in league with Corypheus," she whispered.

He whipped around to face her, his expression warped with anger, but his voice when he spoke was calm and flat. "I did no such thing. I would never support a Darkspawn Magister with delusions of godhood. I spent my life before uthenera fighting against false-gods. I—"

"Then how did Corypheus have your orb?" Ellana interrupted, rising to her feet and stalking toward him, hands clenched at her sides. _"_ Dirthera _,_ Dread Wolf."

Flinching, he withdrew a step and shook his head. "When I woke from uthenera…" He closed his eyes, sighing. "The orb was gone. I had attendants while I slept, but something happened while I lay dreaming. My chamber was magically sealed, which kept me safe, but I believe tomb raiders stumbled upon the ruins. They took the orb."

The devastation and grief in his face silenced her wrath and suspicion. The explosion at the conclave, Divine Justinia's death and the hundreds who'd perished with her, the Anchor winding up on Ellana's hand…it hadn't been his fault. Her knees seemed to have gone boneless again with relief this time.

"I'm sorry," she told him, her voice soft. "I didn't know."

He flashed a miserable, wavering smile. "Your suspicion is understandable," he whispered. "And warranted. I have misled you before." He swallowed, his throat working. The blue-gray of his eyes seemed to hold the fathomless depths of the Waking Sea, unknowable and even frightening.

"Will you reconsider going to the mine?" he asked her and Ellana shook off the shiver coursing through her.

"You truly wouldn't be able to stabilize the Anchor?" she asked, making a face. She clenched and unclenched her left hand, feeling it prickle as always when she thought of the magic there.

"It's possible," he admitted, but his eyes were heavy with sadness and doubt. "But it was made to be tied to myself, not to another. The magic involved is complex and powerful. I did not expect anyone else to be able to wield it, let alone carry it for years. And you, a non-mage…" He sighed, glancing away. "Your life would be in danger." When he looked back to her, his eyes glimmered with moisture. "I cannot lose you, vhenan."

Ellana wrapped her arms around herself. "And I don't want to be locked away the rest of my life for fear it will destabilize. You may be able to fix it again."

He closed his eyes. "After Corypheus fell I searched for an alternative whenever I traveled. Another foci from one of the Evanuris or some other artifact that could remove the Anchor from you…" He shook his head, forlorn. "Two years and I have found nothing."

She reached for his hand and squeezed as he lifted his gaze to hers. "We'll find something," she said and meant it. "And I will be careful. I promise, emma lath."

"Then I will do everything in my power to protect you, vhenan," he said, solemn as though he were swearing a blood oath. He tugged on her hand, and she let herself be enfolded in his embrace, returning it as she snuggled her head into the crook of his shoulder. "Bellanaris," he whispered in her ear.

________________________________________

_Fen'Harel vir'enasalin:_ "vir" is our path/way. "Enasalin" is victory/triumph. So translated as something like, "Dread Wolf's victorious path."

_Venavis_ : stop

_Dirthera:_ tell

_Bellanaris_ : eternity

**Next Chapter:**

"Ten royals says it's a boy," Varric announced, arms spread wide as he gazed around the room, grinning. "Anyone wager it's a girl?"

Beside the eluvian, Solas scowled, his cheeks blooming suddenly red. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the dwarf. "This is not a subject one bets on."


	10. Lyrium Mines and Varric's Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana, Solas, and the Inquisition liberate Mythal's ancient lyrium mine by destroying it. Ellana realizes Solas' fear of the Anchor destabilizing is a very real and pressing threat.

The frilly cake wasn't sitting well anymore and Ellana decided if she never saw one again it'd be too soon. She'd spent a restless night, plagued with heartburn and then nausea until in the morning she gave in, leaving Solas sleeping as she crawled from their enormous winter palace bed and grabbed the chamber pot to heave into. Afterward she sat on the floor beside their bed with her knees drawn up, groaning as she tried to ignore the spittle and stomach acids in the chamber pot to one side of her.

Solas, usually a heavy sleeper, stirred a few minutes after her, inhaling sharply as he shifted. One arm wormed over the bed, searching for her, and when he didn't find her Solas shot upright in the bed, blinking blearily. "Vhenan?"

"Here, emma lath," she answered, grimacing at the acrid taste of bile and acid in her throat.

"You are unwell," he observed, leaving the bed and sitting on the floor at her side. His warm hands brushed over her shoulders and then combed her hair from her face. "How can I help?"

Still shaky from the nausea, Ellana leaned into his touch. "Josephine summoned an elven physician for me. I meant to ask you if she was one of your spies."

"No," Solas admitted with a small smile. "But I may seek to recruit her."

"Should I trust her?" Ellana asked.

"I will find out, but be cautious until then." He rose to his feet, striding to a dresser crafted of a black-brown wood and trimmed in pale gold where he'd left the pack he often wore during their journeys. After rooting through it he returned and offered her a pouch of herbs. Ellana recognized the crisp scent emanating from it: mint and ginger.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking it. As she chewed on a mint leaf Solas began quickly moving about the room, grabbing her robe and bringing it to her. Ellana took it wordlessly, exhausted and sluggish. Then she watched as Solas busied himself again, pulling on his tunic, overcoat, and the lacquered jawbone he always wore. When he'd finished dressing he headed for the door and Ellana called to him, "Where are you going?"

"To summon breakfast for you," he replied, pausing a moment to regard her, his hand on the doorknob. "Do you have anything in particular to request?"

She thumped her head backward onto the wall behind her, groaning. "Eating is the _last_ thing on my mind right now." She tucked the mint leaf into her cheek, glad that at least that was sitting well and tasting pleasant for the moment.

"Vhenan," he said, a gentle note of reprimand in his voice. "You must eat regardless."

"And how many expectant mothers have you attended?" she asked, smirking.

"You would be the first," Solas said, a small smile on his lips. "But I hardly think one needs extensive study in this topic."

"The Dread Wolf guides me," she said, chuckling hoarsely. "More than that, he's acting as my midwife now." She grinned, despite the ongoing foulness still churning in her stomach. "What would my Keeper say?"

Solas returned her grin, flashing his white teeth like his namesake. "It is the least I can do. I am, after all, the one responsible for your illness." Was she imagining it or was he _beaming_ at this declaration?

She snorted, laughing. "You're enjoying this."

Frowning, Solas made a noise of displeasure in his throat. "I do not enjoy seeing anyone suffer—least of all you, vhenan."

Shaking her head, she explained, "I wasn't referring to me feeling wretched. I meant…" _You're excited. You're proud._ They hadn't meant to create a child together and she didn't know how they'd managed to conceive it—the anklet charm her Keeper had made her still had enough magic in it to make Ellana's fingers tingle, so it hadn't failed completely. But with the shock of it over, Solas had accepted the news with open arms. Staring at his concerned look, she felt a warm rush of affection for him that seemed to work magic over her stomach—transforming nausea into hunger.

"Vhenan?" Solas asked, his concern deepening.

"Suddenly I _am_ hungry. Starving in fact," she said and groaned, thumping her head against the wall again. "Ow."

"I will have the servants send tea and breakfast. And draw you a bath." He'd opened the door and left before she could object. She didn't have _time_ for a bath.

Well, maybe a _quick_ bath.

___________________________________

A new Inquisition scout stood at the entrance to the guest wing and Solas guessed she would be his shadow today, Leliana's eyes and ears on him. It'd be a boring assignment for her as Solas merely caught the attention of the nearest elven servant and began outlining instructions for food to be brought to Ellana's room. He also asked for them to bring hot water to run a bath for her. The servants, looking bleary-eyed at the early hour themselves, hurried to do his bidding. One of them was his spy, the other unknown to him. Neither knew of his true identity, only that he was Inquisitor Lavellan's lover and Fade expert.

_And father of her child._

The thought shouldn't have made him happy, shouldn't have sent the excited zinger through his chest, but it did nonetheless. Of course that joy took a nosedive when he remembered her stubborn determination to place herself in mortal danger by fighting the Qunari…and his own cowardice when he'd lied to her.

Standing outside Ellana's closed door, waiting for food, tea, or hot water to arrive, Solas rubbed at his face and frowned with self-revulsion. The memory of the fear and fury in her gaze as she glared at him in the study, accusing him of working with Corypheus outright rather than tacitly using the darkspawn magister still made him shudder with horror. How could she think so little of him, that he would actually betray his own morals and ally with a monster like Corypheus?

_You have no right to be irritated with her for not seeing the truth,_ he scolded himself. The Dread Wolf was the villain of the Dalish and Ellana could not help her upbringing, just as he could not escape his own, which had been shaped by the assumption that magical talent determined one's worth. Of course she would be inclined to assume the worst about him. And Solas, determined to be _better_ in her eyes than he truly was, spun a tale of half-truths.

His uthenera location _had_ been ransacked at some point. Artifacts had been stolen, his attendants murdered with their bodies left to rot away until they were only bones and dust. Solas would have died if his uthenera had not been so deep, so complete that magic alone sustained him. His orb would have been stolen and he killed just as he'd told Ellana, but he slept with it clasped in his hands and his chamber had been magically sealed. He had only survived, only woken in fact, because of the orb. Only when it had amassed enough power over the centuries to tear down the Veil did it finally jolt him awake.

By then he'd been barely alive, too weak even to walk more than a few paces before collapsing. It was luck that he'd woken in high summer and discovered edible mushrooms and fruit trees just outside. That had provided enough energy to rejuvenate his body out of the frailness of near-death. He still would have died from starvation and thirst, being too weak to travel far. There was also the threat of forest predators, human bandits, or Templars too as he could not defend himself in his feeble state. His physical form could not sustain any significant magic use, leaving him virtually Tranquil. But in dreams he had reached out and found the slumbering minds of a nearby Dalish clan and drawn them to him. They had given him safe harbor without ever knowing exactly who they'd rescued from the forest ruins.

Lying in the ruins of his uthenera chambers, his mind frantic and aware while his body failed him, had been the first time he felt the deep chill of terror close over him at the prospect of dying alone, his purpose unfulfilled. Considering it now sent a shudder through him, making him sweat and his heart pound as if he were in the middle of a battle. Wrapping his arms around himself to feel the reassuring shape of his recovered body, filled out with healthy muscle, Solas controlled his breathing, keeping it slow. He directed his thoughts to the upcoming day and the ongoing challenge of keeping Ellana's stubbornness from getting her killed.

From somewhere down the hall Solas heard servants whispering as they lingered just inside another chamber, out of sight of him and the guards by the door. "Did you see the bald elf man in the hall?" one asked, hissing the question.

"Yes," the other replied. "Isn't he the Inquisitor's jilted lover?"

"Hardly jilted, I should say," the first one said with a snigger. "They share the same chambers. But everyone says the Inquisitor prefers her commander—the pretty one."

Solas sighed, glad for the distraction even if it irritated him.

"Then her commander is the one who put a babe in her belly?" the other asked with a scandalized gasp.

"Keep your voice down," the first one shushed the other, hissing.

_Damn you, Vivienne,_ Solas thought.

When he smelled the rich, sweet scent of food he raised his head, his stomach clenching with anticipation. "Ah, excellent," he greeted the servant—Lanya—when she neared, carrying a tray on her shoulder. "Come inside."

_________________________________________

"Here's you, yeah?" Sera greeted her, grinning at Ellana as she stepped past the guards and into the storage room where the eluvian waited. The elven girl was already wearing her armor, with her bow and arrow quiver on her back. "Heard you burped up your bits in the Crossroads. Woulda liked to see that! Wonder where it comes out?"

Ellana scowled, glaring at her. "I'd rather not talk about it." With her eyes she tried to tell Sera what she _wanted_ to say was _I'd rather not talk to_ you.

"Right," Sera said, rolling her eyes. "The thing that everyone saw is not something we talk about. Ugh." She put her hands on her hips. "You're no fun."

Ellana ignored her, moving to where her own weapons and armor leaned up against the opposite wall. She began strapping everything on, again trying to push aside the suspicion that it already felt tighter around her middle. But that might have more to do with the ridiculous amount of food Solas had insisted she eat that morning. She scanned the room and saw him already dressed and waiting beside the eluvian like a sentry, his posture tight and his eyes on her.

"Not _everyone_ was lucky enough to see it, Buttercup," Varric said, chuckling as he moved to stand beside Sera. He clapped his beefy hands together and spoke to Ellana, "Am I allowed to congratulate you now on…things?"

Slinging her quiver of arrows over her shoulder, Ellana fought to control the heat in her cheeks. She didn't miss the speculative glance Varric aimed over his shoulder at Solas, who may or may not have been able to hear their current conversation. Dorian and Iron Bull were also in the room, but appeared to be occupied in their own quiet conversation. Was there a point in pretending anymore? Josephine's advice still spun through her head, but amidst their companions did she really need to hide it?

Making her decision, she let a smile curl over her lips. "I'll take all the well wishes and encouragement you can give."

Varric's grin turned sly. "Great! Well then, first of all congratulations. Now we can start betting on it."

"What?" Ellana blurted, freezing in mid-motion as she flexed the wood of her bow and checked the string.

"Ten royals says it's a boy," Varric announced, arms spread wide as he gazed around the room, grinning. "Anyone wager it's a girl?"

Beside the eluvian, Solas scowled, his cheeks blooming suddenly red. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the dwarf. "This is not a subject one bets on."

"Maybe _you_ don't, Chuckles, but _I_ do." Varric laughed when Solas' glowering intensified. "Oh, c'mon. Have a little fun for once."

"I heard it's a girl whenever you can't stop tossing your cookies," Sera said, giggling. "So, girl, yeah. Ten royals." She stuck her tongue out at Solas. "Not like daddy droopy ears can stop us."

Ellana watched the interaction, her jaw hanging open and her cheeks aflame, still holding her bow in one hand. _Mythal's mercy, what have I unleashed?_

"I'm with Sera on this one," Dorian said. "And I'll raise you to twenty."

"Confident, Sparkler," Varric said, rubbing his hands together as if he could already imagine his coming payday. "I like it. You're on. What about you, Tiny?"

Iron Bull grunted, his single eye roving around the room for a moment before he answered. "I'll have to think it over for a while."

"This is preposterous," Solas grumbled. He shot Ellana a pained look full of sympathy, as if the others were discussing how best to torture her. He started to protest again when the door to the room opened and Cassandra strode in, glowing in her golden armor.

Varric laughed, slapping his knee. "Your Holiness," he said, gasping. "That is some armor you've got there."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "So I have heard. Repeatedly."

"Right, yeah," Sera said, wrinkling her nose as she giggled. "Goldie."

Rainier squeezed in around Cassandra, nodding to everyone in greeting. "Good morning."

"Seeker, Thom," Varric said, grinning as he returned to the important business of setting up his wager. "The rest of us were just placing bets on whether little Lavellan will be a boy or a girl. Care to weigh in? Two to one it's a girl."

"Enough, Varric," Ellana snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I'm going with boy," Rainier said, chuckling before shooting Ellana a sheepish look. "Sorry, my lady." He shrugged, making his armor clink. "I had to go with my first instinct."

Cassandra groaned, stomping closer to Varric, her steps heavy in her armor. "This is not something you place bets on," she snapped as the dwarf scurried away from her, closer to the eluvian.

"Thank you," Solas muttered under his breath with a huff.

"Are you going to try to stab me again, Seeker?" Varric asked, lifting his hands in a motion to ward her off. "I thought we were past that."

"We've wasted enough time," Ellana said, slipping her bow over her shoulder. "We have a lyrium mine to deal with."

_________________________________________

The blue glow from the veins of raw lyrium glittered in the cavern high above, reminiscent of starlight and yet simultaneously alien. Solas could feel the weight of the cavern bearing down on him, countless tons of rock waiting to crush him if and when it collapsed. The strangling effect of the Veil on his magic had been like that when he first woke from uthenera, but over time he'd grown accustomed to the way it throttled his magic use. He'd never understood how dwarves could be comfortable beneath ground.

They encountered signs of struggle—Qunari warriors slain and gaatlok barrel explosions that'd caused cave-ins. Some of these mishaps had happened due to bad luck as unstable tunnels collapsed with Qunari mining activities, but most of the chaos afflicting this mine was due to Solas' own forces. Abelas routinely attacked the mine, sweeping through to ignite gaatlok and kill or harass Qunari. For three months Solas had done the same, sweeping in and out like a bad smell, ruining the miners' day and disrupting their pace.

The night before Solas had contacted Abelas through dreams, ordering the sentinel to bring his people and join them in the assault. So far there'd been no sign of them, other than recently killed Qunari. Where were they?

He found himself as tense as Ellana's bowstring, sweating and fighting the fearful weight of his own worries. He could feel the stray Elvhen magic in this place and knew that even if the Anchor didn't flare up visibly, it would be gaining strength. Though there was little he could do to prevent it, Solas stayed close to Ellana, always within arm's reach if he could help it.

They'd stopped beside some well-preserved elven statues of a pair of twin wolves, howling at the cavern ceiling high above. Ahead the cavern dropped into an enclosed formation, shadowed from the faint light of lyrium veins above. It was a cave within a cave, which made it as dark and intimidating as one would imagine.

For the second time in the last half-hour Varric groaned quietly. "I _hate_ being underground."

"Shut it," Sera scolded him. "You hate everything."

"On the contrary," Varric replied, shuffling his short legs quickly to keep pace with everyone else despite the relatively slow, cautious pace Ellana set fording through the gloomy, rocky cavern. "I enjoy a lot of things—just not dark, damp, unstable places full of giant spiders and deepstalkers." He chuckled. "Oh, and Qunari, of course."

"Quiet," Cassandra ordered, then spoke to Ellana and Solas. "Where do we go now?"

"Solas says Abelas and his people might be here somewhere conducting a hit and run attack on their own," Ellana explained. "I'm worried about running into each other and exchanging friendly fire."

"What are these wolf statues doing down here?" Dorian piped up from behind them. "What were _elves_ doing here?"

"Surface dwarf here," Varric said, shrugging. "Don't look at me. Chuckles usually has an idea, though."

Dorian's eyes found Solas' gaze, glimmering even in the faint light. "Indeed."

The single word carried a weight of deeper meaning and suspicion that made Solas' skin prickle, setting him on edge even further. After seeing the mural yesterday in the sanctuary at Revasan, Dorian had to be thinking along dangerous lines. Why had every place they visited in the eluvian network had something to do with Fen'Harel? Solas knew the smartest option would be to say nothing or very little, but he could feel the others' stares, seeking his usual deeper insight on the past.

With an exasperated sigh he said, "I have never searched the Fade here. I'm afraid I know little of what this place once was." The lie flowed smoothly from his lips and he could almost _feel_ the others accepting it. But Dorian's posture and his challenging stare made it clear he wasn't entirely convinced.

Then Varric shouted, "Shit! Deepstalkers!"

They whipped around as the glinting eyes of the deepstalkers came into view. The bipedal, lizard-like animals scurried forward, hissing as they flowed toward the group, intent on surrounding them and making a kill.

Solas flung an enormous fireball at the three nearest to him and Ellana, making the animals shriek and panic, darting away only to collapse dead as the flames consumed them. Ellana's bow thwacked as she fired arrow after arrow, kicking and dodging the deepstalkers' snapping jaws. Solas cast a barrier over her, moving in step with her to maintain it. When a group of seven deepstalkers encircled them from the cave entrance, snapping at them from all sides, Solas knocked them away with veilstrike.

The others with them made short work of the deepstalker pack, with Dorian covering Sera and Varric as they fired countless arrows and Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Rainier hacking the little beasts limb from limb. Finally the hissing and shrieking died away as the last of the deepstalkers scurried away in panic or perished, bleeding out onto the black stone. Silence descended on the group as they stood tense, watching the shadows, breathing hard after the short, intense battle.

"I _hate_ being underground," Varric repeated, shuddering.

A deep voice cut in from behind them, "How unusual for a child of the Stone."

The group turned as one, ready to fight Qunari, but Solas called out, recognizing the speaker immediately. "Abelas."

The sentinel stepped out of the shadows behind them, lithe and armored but wearing a black cloak over the glimmering metal to disguise its brilliance in the lowlight. Solas saw three other sentinels behind him but couldn't make out which ones Abelas had brought with him. "Lethallin," he greeted Solas with a nod. "We encountered Qunari in the Crossroads and were delayed."

Sera groaned. "Just great, yeah? More elfy-elves."

"We'll take all the help we can get," Ellana said, diplomatic as always and ignoring Sera. "You know the mine better than we do. What do you suggest?"

Solas had actually been the one to devise a plan of attack while communing with Abelas the night before in dreaming, anticipating this potentially awkward moment where he took a backseat to Ellana and Abelas. Coordinating from the sidelines had long been his preferred method of leading whenever possible. In this scenario he wanted as little attention on himself as possible. He'd told Ellana's advisors he had a leadership position over the sentinel elves, but he hadn't indicated how _long_ he'd held it or _why_. Leliana and the others undoubtedly had already wondered what gave him the authority to lead the elves from the temple of Mythal. It wasn't a question he wanted them to puzzle out.

Now he saw Abelas' eyes slide to him, glinting in the dimness of the Deep Roads. "The Qunari use an explosive powder called gaatlok. I assume you've heard of it?"

"We have," Cassandra said and Solas could hear the frown in her voice.

Abelas nodded once to her. "They keep charges for the explosives at a central processing location to try and avoid mishaps with the barrels. I suggest we break into two groups. One will cause a distraction away from where they store the charges. The other group will infiltrate the storage spot and take the charges."

"And blow the gaatlok…where exactly?" Ellana asked with a shrug.

"The Qunari have left many of the barrels staged together across the mine. They move them out to strategic spots as needed for mining." His lips curled in a wry smile. "It'd be a terrible shame if someone were to set off a gaatlok barrel in the staging areas."

Iron Bull cursed in Qunlat then, shaking his horned head. "The explosion would probably bury this whole place, Boss. My vote is we just take them down the old fashioned way." He hefted his great-axe up and thumped it on the stone to make his point clear.

"But then the Qunari would only send more people to restart operations," Solas said. "Abelas is correct. We must destroy the mine to keep it and its lyrium from the Qunari."

"Are you sure?" Ellana asked, raising an eyebrow. "It doesn't sound very safe."

He smiled slightly, hoping she would sense the deeper truth underlying his words. "I believe there will be enough time to escape." Hesitating a moment, he lowered his voice. "I would prefer, of course, that you not be here for this as the explosions may cause unforeseen danger."

She frowned. "I'm not leaving that easily, Solas."

Biting back his sigh of frustration, Solas merely nodded. "As you wish."

"Do you know the kind of forces we're talking about blowing even a single barrel of gaatlok?" Iron Bull asked, his deep voice rumbling with disapproval.

As a matter of fact, Solas _did_ know. Over his three months away in the spring he'd interrogated a Qunari specialist who understood how to make and use gaatlok, learning as much as he could before killing the man. He knew the mathematical formulas to describe the force of such an explosion and had worked out how many would be _too_ many based on the stone in the cavern. But there were many variables, making his estimation unavoidably imprecise. As a result he'd hoped to dissuade Ellana from actually participating—but of course, she seemed determined to drive him mad with anxiety.

"We have watched and interrogated Qunari gaatlok specialists," Abelas said, speaking for Solas and doing an excellent job as usual. Solas dipped his chin in approval when the sentinel shot him a quick glance. "We are confident this will work to destroy the mine without bringing the entire cavern down." He motioned at the cavern. "You may have noticed there's an abundance of water here. The cavern will flood before it collapses."

"How comforting," Dorian piped up. "I've always wanted to die by drowning in pitch black darkness. That's _much_ better than being crushed!"

"Inquisitor," Cassandra said. "You really should retreat back through the mirror. I will go with you. We cannot—"

"No," Ellana insisted. "I am not going to ask my friends to fight and die for me just because…" She broke off, scrubbing at her face.

Solas shifted on his feet, struggling to quash the desire to reach out and comfort her. If it'd just been their companions he would've given in, but Abelas and the sentinels needed to see him maintain the cool professionalism of a leader. Of course that was _infinitely_ easier when he wasn't twisting inside with worry and doubt, imagining all the ways Ellana could be killed.

Taking a deep breath in, Ellana looked at him over her shoulder. "You're confident this won't blow up in our faces and get us all killed?"

"Literally blow up," Iron Bull added. "Gaatlok is some nasty shit."

"Confident, yes," he answered, pinching his lips together. "Certain? No."

"All right," Ellana said and faced Abelas again. "Let's get to it."

They divided into two groups: distraction and infiltration. The sentinel elves made up the bulk of the distraction team but also took Iron Bull, Rainier, and Varric with them. Solas, Ellana, Dorian, Cassandra, and Sera formed the infiltration group. After making their way through the dark cave ahead, stumbling on the cylindrical column-like rock formations, they reached an overlook and paused to stare at the structures off in the darkness. Lyrium glittered blue in the ceiling and distant walls of the cavern, but long ago the first miners had constructed an enormous series of bridges to span the gap of the abyss and now orange fire torches quavered on those structures like distant campfires.

Abelas and his group split off, moving to cause the distraction that'd allow Ellana's team to reach central processing with minimal resistance. Solas waited with the rest of Ellana's group, lingering on the overlook, waiting for the moment they heard Abelas' attack begin. Tense silence reigned as they watched the distant shapes of Qunari warriors patrolling the bridge. Solas ran the plan through his mind again, contemplating the raw math behind the explosions and trying to consider every variable for anything he'd missed and coming up empty.

Finally they heard shouting and saw distant flashes of fire from mage attacks. They left the overlook and headed for the bridge. Cassandra took the lead with Solas and Dorian in a secondary positions and both archers close behind them with their bows ready, arrows nocked. The bright gold of Cassandra's armor made Solas wince at its conspicuousness, shimmering and glinting against the torches on the bridge. It might as well have shouted their position to the first Qunari archers they came across.

The attackers yelled in Qunlat—a language Solas had spent the last few years learning whenever he had a spare moment—and immediately began firing. Solas cast a barrier on Ellana and Sera as they returned fire while Dorian protected everyone else. Spearmen charged over the bridge from the Qunari central processing storage area as the first archers fell dead, their bodies bristling with arrows and scorch marks.

Cassandra blocked an incoming spear with her shield and then lunged, bashing the warrior who'd thrown it at her. "Maker take you!"

After again casting a barrier over Ellana and Sera, Solas summoned firestorm, grunting with the effort of shaping and hurling the greater spell with the constant throttling grip the Veil placed over his magic. Fiery projectiles rained down on the remaining five spearmen, setting them alight. Three died outright, a fourth met Cassandra's blade, but the fifth fled screaming in Qunlat: "Saarebas! Saarebas! _Help us!"_

"He's calling for a mage," Solas shouted a quick translation, gritting his teeth.

"Oi," Sera yelled back at him, her nose wrinkling. "You understand that piss?"

_Oops,_ Solas thought and didn't answer or look at her for more than a heartbeat. Unable to stop himself, Solas did glance behind him at Ellana to check her reaction. She wore a smile, her green eyes sweeping over him with appreciation. The orange torches on the bridge lit her Dalish scout armor a brilliant yellow like the sunrise. Any trepidation he'd felt before became a shot of warmth through his chest—affection and desire. Unlike Sera, Ellana prized knowledge and was apparently unbothered.

"Forward," Cassandra yelled, recapturing his attention. "Let's meet this Qunari mage."

"How about we just kill him?" Dorian quipped. "I think one Qunari in my life is more than enough."

They hurried across the bridge to the structure where Solas knew the Qunari stored the gaatlok charges. Two more archers fired on them as they entered and in the center of the room stood the saarebas, bulky and thickly built. As they approached he tossed aside a syringe still gleaming faintly blue—lyrium.

Solas cast a barrier over Ellana and Sera at once. Arrows bounced from it, falling away harmlessly as their own projectiles shot through unhindered. One of the archers went down, Sera's arrow lodged in his throat. The other stopped shooting when Ellana put an arrow through his side, clawing at it as his blood splattered on the stone floor.

Solas flung fire from his staff in basic attacks, aiming at the saarebas rather than the spearman—who was already staggering back from Cassandra's shield bash. The saarebas shrugged most of the fire off, his body infused with the pain-numbing and caution-destroying effects of lyrium enhancement. Dorian let out a shout as he cast one of his necromancy spells on the Qunari mage, but it had no effect.

"Die," the saarebas roared at them, hurling fireballs from both meaty fists. "Agents of Fen'Harel!"

"Whoa," Dorian said, gasping as he ducked and rolled to evade the fireball. "Temper, temper!"

Solas Fade stepped to dodge the fireball aimed for himself. Ellana and Sera were quick to leap away as well; both yelping with alarm as it smashed through the degrading barrier Solas had cast over them. Panic grabbed at Solas' throat with icy hands. "Vhenan!"

Ellana thrust her left hand up and the Anchor glowed a bright, intense green. A sphere of green energy encircled her for several meters—Aegis of the Fade. Solas gritted his teeth in a humorless grin of relief just in time to see and hear the saarebas launch another massive fireball at him. Solas pivoted to dodge while casting an enormous veilstrike blow. The force blew the fireball out of the air, smashing it against the stone in a rain of sparks and charred stone.

The saarebas roared with frustration, switching to electricity and slashing through the air, flinging the crackling purple energy every which way. Cassandra, bearing down on the Qunari mage, let out a warbling cry as it impacted her, crawling through the metal of her armor to shock her. The saarebas slammed into her shield, knocking her back, but an arrow—Ellana's—plunged into his shoulder.

Solas sent a chunk of Fade stone smashing into him. The saarebas stumbled but refused to fall despite the force of it. His shoulders heaved as he shrugged off more fire attacks from Dorian and sidestepped Sera's arrow, his wrath turning toward Solas.

As the saarebas launched another fireball at him and at Dorian, Solas Fade stepped out of its path and flung the Qunari mage to the ground with another powerful veilstrike. This time the saarebas collapsed with a cry of surprise and pain. Solas summoned another firestorm, using both arms to aim and bring the full force of it down on the Qunari.

Fiery rock pummeled him, singeing his clothing and then his flesh. His screams were high-pitched and bloodcurdling for only a few moments before Solas clenched one fist and closed his eyes, killing the mage by petrifying his head. The stink of charred flesh made Solas grimace, edging away form his handiwork and hoping the others wouldn't notice the odd way the saarebas' head seemed to have turned gray in a way that wasn't like burned flesh upon closer inspection.

As the firestorm spell at last quieted, Solas strode to Cassandra and helped her to her feet. "Thank you," she told him, a few muscles in her face twitching with the lingering effects of the shocking spell the saarebas had used on her.

"Fenedhis," Ellana cursed, still near the entrance. Her hand covered her nose, her face twisting with revulsion. "The smell. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Bout to toss up breakfast?" Sera asked, giggling. "You're _so_ growing a girl."

"Let's get the fuses and get out," Ellana said, groaning. The sound of her discomfort made something twist inside Solas, painful with sympathy—especially because he had been the one to char the Qunari so badly.

Sera jogged ahead, searching for the gaatlok fuses while Ellana maintained her distance from the corpse with Dorian nearby. Certain Cassandra was all right, Solas hurried to join Ellana and his chest constricted with horror when he saw her left hand glimmering green.

"Vhenan," he said, gesturing to it. "Are you in pain?"

Still grimacing from the smell, Ellana opened her left palm, appearing perplexed. "It's just a tingle."

Dorian's brown eyes had narrowed to the point of almost glaring at Solas, as if he somehow knew _everything._ The idea was paranoid and foolish, but Solas found his blood suddenly pulsing in his ears anyway. But then Dorian smiled and cleared his throat, "I'll go make sure Sera finds those charges."

He walked away, leaving Solas and Ellana a little privacy just out of earshot of the others. Immediately she frowned at him. "I'm fine, Solas, really." She shook her left hand. "It's just from using aegis."

Reaching for her, Solas embraced her, cradling the back of her neck with one hand. "Please, vhenan, do not use it again."

She sighed, sounding irritable though her body against his relaxed, easing into his embrace. "You're going to drive me crazy with all this babying."

"I found them," Sera announced from the front of the room.

Ellana shifted in his arms and Solas reluctantly released her. With the charges in their possession Solas resumed his position behind Cassandra as they started out, but felt a quick zinger of alarm as he realized Dorian was still standing near where the saarebas' charred body had fallen. The Tevinter mage was staring down at it, a scowl on his face and one hand on his chin.

Catching Ellana's eye, Solas jerked his chin backward to wordlessly indicate Dorian. She followed his gaze and called out to the other mage. "Dorian, we have to leave."

"Yes," he said and whipped around, moving back into a position near Solas.

Solas pretended to be focused on the way ahead as they left the structure and returned to the bridge, but he felt hot and clammy, his stomach loopy as though he'd swallowed snakes that now wormed around inside him. The saarebas had called them all agents of Fen'Harel. That was now the fourth time Fen'Harel had come up in the last few days around Dorian. First the sentinel elves had nearly called Solas by his Evanuris name, then Dorian had seen the mural at Revasan, and now twice in one day he'd been reminded in the Deep Roads—first by the wolf statues earlier and now by the saarebas.

_They're going to find out_ , the voice of panic taunted him. _They will turn on you._ Solas quashed it with the iron fist of his willpower and resolve. He'd escaped detection in this modern world for years and deceived the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones repeatedly in the past all by refusing to panic and thinking on his feet. He vowed to himself he could handle this too.

They crossed the bridge, encountering little resistance. Solas took the lead now, guiding their group to the first gaatlok staging area. A small band of warriors sat around a campfire nearby and Solas attacked aggressively, Fade stepping into their midst and launching ice and fire magic. By the time Cassandra, Dorian, Sera, and Ellana had caught up the Qunari warriors were already heavily wounded. Solas let Cassandra, Dorian, Sera, and Ellana finish them off while he set the charges.

When he'd finished he lit them with a little flare of fire from his fingers and then Fade stepped away, coming out of it beside Ellana. "Run," he called out, one hand on the small of her back.

They hustled through the dark, gaining as much distance from the gaatlok barrels as they could before the blast went off. The cavern shook with the force of it and Cassandra halfway toppled over into a nearby stone pillar. Solas caught Ellana around the waist when she stumbled at another tremor. The roar of water pounded the rocks behind them, sloshing as it broke through from the ceiling due to the shockwave, glinting blue from the reflection of the lyrium.

"Somewhere on the surface I'm sure there are peasants panicking as their lake drains away," Dorian commented, huffing. "I really was hoping you were joking about the flooding bit."

"Blow up some shite, that'll fix it," Sera grumbled. "Brill plan, yeah? Except not. Shite elfy-elves and their shite-arse plans."

Shouts in Qunlat echoed through the cavern, competing with the constant low roar of the water. A pair of warriors intercepted them on their way to the next gaatlok staging area and after casting a quick barrier over Ellana, Solas Fade stepped to fight beside Cassandra. He knocked the warriors prone with veilstrike, then hammered them with Fade stone. Cassandra made the killing blow to one, stabbing him through a gap in his armor at the throat, and then Ellana or Sera shot an arrow into the other warrior's eye, dropping him instantly.

After the second charge went off more water gushed into the cavern, flowing in long waterfalls that hissed and splattered on the stone. The earth quivered with tremors, jostling all of them as they struggled over the uneven, stepped stone formations. The water made the rocks slick, sending Cassandra and then Dorian sprawling.

"Keep going," Solas yelled, raising his voice to be heard over the din of water. "We must hurry!"

They found the third staging area devoid of Qunari as by now most of the miners and warriors had probably fled. Solas left the others several meters away, Fade stepping to move faster. He set the charges and then they were running again, Solas in position with Ellana like a shadow as she scrambled over the rocks, nimble despite the near-constant shaking from the cavern now.

Solas barely heard the third explosion over the mind numbing roar of the water. When he peered over the ledge of the precipice as they raced back to the overlook, he saw the frothing water below, churning and bubbling as it rose. It glinted blue, lit by the lyrium in the cavern ceiling. Rocks fell from the ceiling with one of the larger aftershocks, careening down with eerie slowness and silence. The splash they made was lost amidst the cacophony of other water sounds.

_And this is how Mythal's lyrium mine comes to an end,_ he thought.

________________________________

By the time they reached the overlook Ellana and the rest of the group were all completely soaked, dripping wet. Somehow, paradoxically, Ellana found her throat and mouth were bone dry. She tried not to see the rising water in the depths of the cavern or to consider they could find themselves trapped by a cave-in and still wind up drowning. She focused on Solas' warm hand on the small of her back or on her shoulder, encouraging and protecting her.

They found Abelas and the others waiting tensely at the overlook, not much drier than their own group. Ellana walked sandwiched between the sentinel elf and Solas as they made their way back through the dark cave and past the statues of the howling wolves. A few Qunari tried to stop them, but the terror in their eyes made them easy to fight and with so many mages the warriors quickly died. Most of them had likely been trying to flee the cavern through the eluvian only to be cut down by the sentinel elves and Ellana's Inquisition companions.

It almost made her sad, though she was too harried to give it much thought before they'd reached the cerulean glow of the mirror. Abelas and the sentinels rushed through it first and then Solas ushered her into it. The sudden relative silence after the extreme loudness of the cavern made Ellana gasp. She cringed against the strange, fractured light in the Crossroads, her eyes jumping between the black rock islands floating in the void.

As Solas and the others piled through, crowding the relatively small rock island, Ellana's knees seemed to become rubber. She sucked in deep breaths, trying to calm the reaction, and found Solas at her side like an overprotective parent. "Vhenan?" he asked, cupping her face in his hands and staring into her eyes. "Are you all right?"

Examining his dark blue eyes calmed the press of emotions inside her, letting her breathe slower as she nodded. "I'm fine—just catching my breath after nearly dying. That's all." She smiled, suddenly giddy with relief as she laughed.

"Lethallin," Abelas said from behind Solas.

Solas pulled back from Ellana and turned to face the sentinel. "Abelas," he greeted him. "Thank you for your help."

Abelas' eyes flicked to Ellana once and then returned to Solas. "You will not remain?"

"I will rejoin you when we clear out the Qunari from the library," he said. "Until then I am needed elsewhere."

"…enansal," the sentinel said, his eyes narrowing with something like displeasure despite what he said, which Ellana interpreted as a formal parting to Solas as Fen'Harel. But then Abelas' eyes leapt again to Ellana. This time they stayed there as he gave her a nod. "Inquisitor," he said. "It was a pleasure seeing you again."

Ellana started to offer him a similar remark but already the sentinel had turned on his heel and motioned his companions to follow. They charged past the Inquisition companions, who were still trying to shake the water from their clothes and weapons. Moments later the sentinels were Fade stepping over the void. Ellana watched them go, shivering in her cold, wet armor for a few heartbeats before she sensed Solas' focus on her. He was waiting and watching her like a soldier or a servant, not the lover and… _Evanuris_ …he really was. She knew what that meant.

It was time for her to be the sole leader of their group again.

She squared her shoulders and addressed her companions with a wry smile. "So, is everyone ready to return to Halamshiral to change out of our wet clothes?"

They set off for the island containing the Halamshiral mirror, walking over the stone bridges. Ellana was in the lead as Inquisitor, with Solas immediately behind her. She slowed her pace, changing position to walk beside him. Cassandra was close behind, with Rainier and Dorian after that and possibly within earshot. She kept her voice low as she asked, "You said something about a library?"

Solas shot her a sidelong frown. "I did, yes. But you mustn't go there, vhenan. The library is a construct, much like the Crossroads. It is teeming with Elvhenan's magic even now. The Anchor will not react favorably."

With her left hand no longer glowing or even tingling, Ellana sighed with frustration, staring off into the void for a beat as she wondered if Solas was trying to hide something rather than protect her. He was one of the Evanuris and the Anchor was from his own orb. It was _his_ magic, yet he claimed he could not control it. She wasn't sure if she wanted to believe he was lying because he was Fen'Harel or because it'd mean she didn't have to live in perpetual fear that the Anchor would one day kill her.

"It's fine right now," she insisted, lifting the palm for him to see. "It was only using aegis that made it glow before."

"We have been fortunate in the mines." He smiled at her, somber and sad, the look a parent might give to a naïve child. Seeing it made Ellana's heart twist with pain and the new certainty that Solas _wasn't_ lying to her.

"You really can't control it?" she whispered, feeling her throat tighten with emotion.

"I wish I could," he murmured, shaking his head.

"Then I'm going to die," Ellana said, the words shaky with emotion as her mind spun with more questions. "How long would I have if it destabilized?" She laid her right hand over her abdomen and didn't miss the way his gaze leapt to the small movement.

"Forgive me, but I do not know." Solas' expression crumpled with grief. He wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning close to whisper into her ear. "I can save your life, but you would lose much of your arm."

Ellana's throat and chest ached despite the good news that she wasn't walking around on borrowed time. "I'd never draw a bow again."

"Do you understand now why I have begged you not to journey here?" Solas asked, his voice roughening as he drew away slightly. They were approaching the Halamshiral island.

She nodded, sucking in a breath to strengthen herself as they reached the eluvian. Parting from Solas, she stepped into it and immediately felt its cool magic wash over her. Emerging out the other side she shuddered, seeing the rich blue carpeting of the storage room and the closed door. Everything lay undisturbed, exactly as it'd been when they left that morning, but now late afternoon sunshine streamed in through the windows.

And then Ellana felt a hot tingling in her left palm. She swallowed the painful lump of emotion in her throat as she saw the Anchor had started to glow faintly green again. Shaking it out as the eluvian glowed and hummed behind her, Ellana turned to face what she believed would be Solas as he'd been right behind her—only to see Cassandra appear through the mirror instead.

Tucking her glowing green hand behind her, Ellana smiled at the Divine in greeting. "Cassandra—"

"Inquisitor," Cassandra cut her off, the anxious look she wore made Ellana scowl, her heart suddenly pounding. "Please forgive me, but I must speak with you—in private."

"Of course," Ellana said. Her stomach gnawed on itself, reminding her it'd been several hours since breakfast. "But perhaps it can wait until after—"

"No," Cassandra cut her off, her brow knitting. "I'm afraid it cannot wait." She checked over her shoulder, looking at the eluvian. No one else had come through…

Fear stabbed Ellana, cold and heavy and suffocating. "What's going on here?"

"The others will be along shortly," Cassandra told her, not answering the question. Her position in front of the eluvian, blocking it, registered with Ellana like a slap in the face. "We only needed to get you alone for a moment. It was Dorian's idea…"

_Solas_ , she thought and a mix of rage and horror swept through her, her pulse pounding in her skull as she glared at Cassandra. "What _exactly_ was Dorian's idea?"

_________________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

"He's got a point, Sparkler," Varric put in, chuckling. "I'm hearing a lot of mage envy and not a lot of hard facts."

"Great, it's just a pissing contest between weirdies," Sera said, rolling her eyes. "Can you two just whip out cocks and compare already so we can _leave_?"

Both Dorian and Solas glared at her as Varric and Sera laughed. Rainier cut off his own laughter and pretended to find the stone beneath their feet fascinating.

"Now I want to see that," Iron Bull said, also bellowing with laughter. "But we all know who'd really win that contest." He paused a beat and then said, "Me, of course."


	11. Mage Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As suspicion mounts within the Inquisition that there's a lot more to Solas than anyone thought, Ellana struggles to keep peace between her organization and her lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW for sexy time.

As Ellana stepped through the eluvian to Halamshiral, Solas followed close behind her—but a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind and wrenched him away. Caught off guard, he stumbled with a grunt and found himself facing Dorian.

"Not so fast," the Tevinter mage said, his expression contorted with anger. "I think it's time we have a little chat."

A quick glance at the others told Solas most of them had been taken by surprise by this confrontation—Sera, Rainier, and Iron Bull all wore confused or alarmed expressions. But Varric and Cassandra seemed unmoved.

Solas brushed Dorian's hand off him, taking a step back and shaking his head. "You had only to ask, Tevinter. I had thought the Imperium valued manners, but I can see I was mistaken."

Dorian snorted and tilted his head slightly to speak to Cassandra over one shoulder. "Go after Ellana."

She nodded and Solas' gaze tracked her brilliant golden armor as she stepped into the eluvian after Ellana. He shifted on his feet, his stomach twisting with anxiety. "Whatever you have to—"

He saw the flash of motion as Dorian struck just a fraction of a second too late to guard his face. The human mage's fist hit him square in the nose, sending a brief, hot spurt of pain through his nasal passageways. Solas flinched, pulling backward and grabbing for his nose as hot blood trickled in a little spatter down his chin and onto his over coat. He cursed in elven, the words thick and slurred through his painful nose.

Dorian shook his hand, glaring as he did it. "Imagine that. You have a head as hard as stone. I should have known, considering how stubborn and hardheaded you are."

"Dorian?" Iron Bull asked, a note of disapproval in his voice. "What's going on?"

"Yeah," Sera spoke up. "Herald's not going to like you beating on him. Shoulda used a pie."

"Solas here—our esteemed _Fade expert_ —has been holding out on us, in more ways than one. Isn't that right, Solas?" Dorian asked, his lips curling snidely.

Solas spat blood, grimacing at both the pain and the metallic taste of it. Pinching his nose, he remained silent to let Dorian lay out the case against him, knowing better than to provide the other man with any additional fuel.

"Yesterday while fighting the Qunari we came across an elven mural in the ruins. It depicted their god, Fen'Harel, the one represented by the wolf, removing Dalish facial tattoos." Dorian had pivoted slightly to speak to the others, gesturing as he explained. "And I'm sure all of you remember how the sentinels asked after Fen'Harel too, yes? And then when we were picking up the charges, the Qunari mage called us agents of Fen'Harel." He made a high-pitched noise of amusement in his throat. "How is it that so many, ally and foes alike, keep bringing up this ancient elven _trickster_ god?"

"Fen'Harel?" Sera asked, wrinkling her nose. "You're full of shite, Dorian. It's all shite. The lot of it."

"I'm with Sera," Rainier said, shaking his head. "What does this Fen'Harel have to do with anything?"

"Have you all forgotten meeting Mythal?" Dorian demanded, motioning between them in exasperation. "The elven gods or whatever they were are _not_ mere tales." He turned his gaze back on Solas, lips curled to expose his teeth in a snarl. "And I've now seen our _Fade expert_ cast some very odd, very powerful spells. How does a wandering elven apostate who claims to be self-taught know how to cast fire so powerful he can turn enemies to ash like that." Dorian snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Or even better. Sera, did you notice the way the Qunari mage died?"

"Fried by fire from droopy ears?" she answered with a shrug. "Just the usual magic piss."

"His head was turned to stone," Dorian said, sounding exasperated. "Fire magic doesn't petrify. Obviously. So," he said, glaring at Solas. "Care to explain yourself?"

Spitting more blood onto the stone, Solas snarled at Dorian. "I have nothing to say to you, Tevinter, except that your accusations are baseless and ludicrous." The pain in his face did an excellent job at letting him hide the cold fear crawling over his skin. He continued cradling his nose, glad of the distraction. He could see doubt and sympathy clouding the others' expressions. They likely knew less of the Dread Wolf than Dorian, most of them being less well read than the Tevinter.

"Then explain why these sentinels adopted you as their leader? Hmm? Maybe you can also tell us why the Qunari mage called us agents of Fen'Harel? Or how you always know _so much_ about the past and Elvhenan." He wriggled his fingers next to his head in a mocking gesture. "Is Fen'Harel whispering in your ear?"

Solas let out a dry, thick laugh and then winced as burning pain cut through his nose at it. "You are a fool."

"Does Ellana know what you are?" Dorian asked, sneering. "Does she have any idea that every word out of your mouth is a lie?"

Dorian's words made Solas flinch. He covered the impact of the insult by spitting again before he gritted his teeth and answered, "I owe you no explanations. You are nothing but a paranoid man with some bizarre mage envy. Yes, I do know spells you do not. Why attack me if this bothers you? The problem lies within you, not me."

"Ridiculous," Dorian said, scoffing.

Seeing he'd hit a nerve and noting the way Varric, Sera, and Rainier all smirked with repressed humor at Solas' suggestion that Dorian's real anger stemmed out of jealousy than any real threat, Solas pressed his advantage. "Are you perhaps threatened to learn your privileged Tevinter education was not as thorough as you'd believed? Are you too proud to ask me for aid? Perhaps that is why I know more spells than you."

"That's not it and you know it," Dorian growled.

"He's got a point, Sparkler," Varric put in, chuckling. "I'm hearing a lot of mage envy and not a lot of hard facts."

"Great, it's just a pissing contest between weirdies," Sera said, rolling her eyes. "Can you two just whip out cocks and compare already so we can _leave_?"

Both Dorian and Solas glared at her as Varric and Sera laughed. Rainier cut off his own laughter and pretended to find the stone beneath their feet fascinating.

"Now I want to see that," Iron Bull said, also bellowing with laughter. "But we all know who'd really win that contest." He paused a beat and then said, "Me, of course."

"Fine," Dorian snapped. "If everyone is _quite_ finished." He stepped backward to free Solas' path to the eluvian. "But this isn't over, Solas. If you won't answer to me, you'll answer to Cassandra and Ellana."

Wiping more blood from his chin, Solas shot Dorian a vicious glare. "I suspect _you_ will be the one to answer to Ellana."

"Oh yes, hide behind your lover's skirts," Dorian grumbled sarcastically. "The lover you won't marry after _three years."_

Rage scalded Solas' blood, making his face burn all the way to the tips of his ears, but he bit back his reaction and went to the eluvian. As much as he despised Dorian's comment—on multiple levels—it was far truer than he cared admit. Ellana was the one whose opinion mattered…for the moment. He couldn't help but see that soon the humans' distrust would spill over onto her.

_I am putting her in danger,_ he realized, feeling dizzy as the eluvian's magic spread over him. His heart ached as he realized that wasn't exactly true. He had _always_ been the one endangering her, and it was only getting worse.

______________________________________________

"Inquisitor, please. You _must_ see that Solas is still lying to us. I understand—" Cassandra broke off, huffing with the awkwardness of the topic. "We all understand you are in a difficult position considering your condition and your feelings for Solas, but you cannot keep the truth from us, if you know it. And if you don't, you cannot afford to be blind to his lies."

"Where is Solas?" Ellana demanded, edging forward. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. When Cassandra stood firm in her spot blocking the eluvian, her chin jutting out and a muscle in her jaw feathering, Ellana snarled at the Divine. _"Harellan._ Traitor. Have you forgotten everything Solas helped us accomplish? If he were human, would you turn on him so quickly?"

Cassandra shook her head, her mouth curling downward with irritation. "I have always tried to be fair," she said. "But I could not ignore Dorian's suspicions."

"And what exactly were those suspicions?" Ellana asked with an exasperated shrug and a noise of disgust in her throat.

Cassandra's lips pinched together, eyes narrowing. "We have already met what's left of one elven god. Dorian fears Solas is a vessel, like Mythal."

"That's not possible, Cassandra," Ellana said, trying to muster up a laugh to dismiss the Divine's words. "The elven gods were locked away ages ago."

"Yes," Cassandra said, brow knitting. "By Fen'Harel. We have run across his name repeatedly while fighting the Qunari. The mage we fought shouted it just today, Inquisitor. Surely you cannot have forgotten?"

"Who cares what the Qunari think?" Ellana rejoined with a dismissive gesture, even as she struggled to hide her horror or at least feign a better reaction. Her cheeks were aflame, her body prickling with sweat.

"You are Dalish," Cassandra reminded her. "Tell me what you know of Fen'Harel that Solas cannot be him. Because Dorian's findings on the matter describe Solas perfectly."

"I will not stand here and listen to you impugn Solas," Ellana growled, shoulders heaving as she breathed. "You can ask him these things yourself. I'm sure he will be—"

The eluvian thrummed, glowing brighter as someone passed through it. Ellana's heart hammered and her breath caught in her throat as Solas stepped through, one hand covering his nose. Red stained the front of his robes in a few blotchy patches and had clearly rolled down his chin. His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes fiery with anger.

"Solas!" Ellana rushed for him, shouldering Cassandra aside.

"It is nothing, vhenan," he said, wrapping his other arm around her, but she didn't miss the way he glowered at Cassandra. "Ma serannas, _falon_ ," he said to the Divine, the sarcasm and anger in his tone impossible to miss. "You remind me why I have avoided humans in the past."

Cassandra said nothing as the eluvian thrummed again and Dorian strode through, shaking one fist and grimacing.

"You," Ellana snarled, leaving Solas to confront the Tevinter mage. "What in the great beyond is going on here?"

"I believe that question is best directed at Solas, Inquisitor," he said, the anger in his face warping it out of his usual smooth, masculine beauty.

"Dorian's right, Inquisitor," Cassandra said. "We must—"

"You expect me to just believe Solas bloodied his own nose then?" Ellana snapped, fury making her voice quake. "Have we resorted to _striking_ one another like children when we have a disagreement?"

"Thank you, Inquisitor," Solas murmured behind her. "My sentiments exactly."

"You smug bastard," Dorian growled, stabbing a finger at Solas. "You're using her, hiding behind her and—"

"Enough!" Ellana roared, breathing hard and gritting her teeth. "No one else says a word until we settle this in the study, in private. Is that understood?"

The eluvian thrummed again behind them, admitting Varric through next. The dwarf scampered away from the mirror to gain some distance from it, grinning as he caught onto the tension in the room. "What'd I miss? Did the Inquisitor punch Sparkler?"

"No," Ellana said as she started heading for the door, her shoulders hunched with the burning pressure of her anger at how suddenly events soured. "But _do_ let Sera know I see a pie in Dorian's future." Dorian scoffed behind her but said nothing.

"You got it, Inquisitor," Varric replied.

Ellana led the two humans and Solas out from the storage room, grabbing the first Inquisition scout she saw and asking him to fetch her advisors—and dinner. While she spoke with the scout he kept staring at Solas behind her, his brow knit with something like alarm. He was elven and barefaced, making Ellana immediately suspect he was one of Solas' spies, but it was just as likely he was merely alarmed to see her Fade expert struggling not to stain the carpeting.

Once the scout had left Ellana opened one of the leather pouches she wore around her waist and fished out a bit of ragged fabric she kept for cleaning arrowheads of gore. It was clean and unused, if still damp from their time slogging through the flooding lyrium mine. She passed it to Solas. "Take this."

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "Sadly, I'm sure I have already stained my coat."

"Don't worry, it's so shabby no one will notice," Dorian grumbled.

Ellana glared at him, as did Solas over the improvised handkerchief. "Quiet," she scolded and then resumed her swift pace to the study where she found Cullen and Leliana already present. "Where's Josephine?" she asked, impatient to get the meeting over with.

"She'll be along shortly," the spymaster assured her. "Just making nice with the ambassadors at the summit." Her smile turned dark as her gaze slid past Ellana to take in Solas, Dorian, and Cassandra. "I see you did not take my advice, Dorian." She sighed.

"What advice was that?" Ellana asked, marching up to the table and leaning both hands on it.

"She told me not to confront our _illustrious_ Fade expert," Dorian told Ellana, stalking around her to stand near Cullen to her right. "But Cassandra disagreed. So I made up my own mind and went with the Divine's approach. Most Holy cannot be wrong, no?"

Cassandra groaned from her spot along the far left side of the table, where Josephine normally stood. Still wearing her armor, she grimaced, looking uncomfortable at the ongoing dampness of the leather and chainmail she wore that wouldn't be able to dry even a tiny bit through the thick cover of her metal armor. "I did _not_ tell you to _hit_ him."

"He deserved it," Dorian muttered, snarling at Solas, who stood close to Ellana's left side, a shadow that had said nothing so far as the others discussed him.

"What is this all about?" Cullen asked, frowning with confusion. He shot Dorian a disapproving look. "You hit Solas?"

"Yes, and proudly I might add," Dorian said, sniffing. "He's been lying to us for _years._ He's still trying to lie to us now." His brown eyes turned to Ellana, softening. "I'm sorry you have to hear this from me, but I'm certain Solas is not who he claims to be."

"Tell me something, Dorian," Solas said, scorn dripping from the words. "Do you enjoy needlessly complicating everything with your paranoid ramblings or does it grow tiresome even to you? Or perhaps it is merely the sound of your own voice you—"

"Solas," Ellana interrupted, shaking her head and frowning. "You're not helping."

The darkness in his blue eyes as he averted his gaze left her feeling heavy and cold with trepidation. He sighed but fell silent. Ellana refocused on Dorian, even though she already knew what he'd likely say. "Go on."

"Thank you, Inquisitor," Dorian said with a dip of his head, though his gaze was on Solas as he snarled, mocking Solas' earlier remarks when Ellana had defended him. "My sentiments exactly."

"Stop acting like children," Cassandra snapped. "Both of you."

"Perhaps it is best if you explain, Divine Victoria," Cullen suggested with a longsuffering sigh.

"The theory is Dorian's," Cassandra said, motioning at the mage across the table from her. "But I could not deny that it rings with truth." She turned her head, staring at Solas with narrowed—but also saddened—eyes. "We know so little of you, Solas, even now."

"You know I helped defeat Corypheus," Solas said, his voice thick through his blood-clogged nose. "You know I have remained with the Inquisition for three years. I have told you everything of import from my life before the Breach. There is little to tell you because I have spent much of my life alone, deep in the wilderness or within the Fade. There is nothing else to tell any of you."

The way he said it seemed so honest and open, even Ellana could forget what else she knew of him. She let her expression soften with care, the sight of his puffy nose and the blood stains on his clothing and skin twisted something inside of her painfully.

"Nothing else to tell us?" Dorian asked, scoffing with derision. "How about the way you petrified a Qunari mage's head today? Or before that when you burned a spearman in front of Divine Victoria into ashes in a few seconds? And every time we go into the eluvians to fight these damned Qunari someone mentions the elven god Fen'Harel." He shook his head, looking around the table. "I'm no scholar on elven gods, but I smell a rat. A very tall, very bald rat."

"I think you mean rabbit," Solas quipped, sneering.

"Enough," Ellana interjected again, raising both hands as if to keep them separated. "I'm not sure I follow, Dorian," she said, feigning confusion. She felt sweat accumulating along her hairline, even though her damp armor had her nearly shivering.

Cassandra answered instead of Dorian. "As I told you, Inquisitor, Dorian believes Solas is a vessel for the elven god Fen'Harel, as Flemeth was for Mythal."

"Ridiculous," Solas growled. He held out the handkerchief and motioned to his face and his overcoat to indicate the bloodstains. "Perhaps my understanding of gods is flawed," he said, "but I should think they'd do a lot less bleeding when punched by spoiled Tevinter princelings."

Ellana covered her face with one hand, breathing deeply to try and school her reaction. How was she supposed to react to this? How did the humans expect her to take this news? _Denial._

She let her hand slap down on her thigh, thumping thickly against her armor and let out a dry laugh. "You _must_ be joking."

"Unfortunately we are not, Inquisitor," Leliana said, her hands tucked behind her back. "I have heard Dorian's thoughts on this already, but I did not approve of him taking matters into his own hands." Her blue eyes slid to Solas. "There are many interesting connections we can make, however. I wonder how Lady Lavellan will react should we lay them out for her."

"Don't you think I'd know if I ran across one of _my_ people's gods?" Ellana asked, frowning.

"Unlikely," Dorian said. "Did you recognize Mythal on sight in her vessel?"

"This is a waste of time," Solas spat, red faced and angry.

Ellana crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the little spurt of pain from her breasts as she did so. "I'm not hearing anything convincing here. Why would an elven god like Fen'Harel join the Inquisition? It's ridiculous. You're all humans—you don't understand our gods. Fen'Harel would not fight to protect the world from the Breach. He was never fond of the People."

"No, but as I seem to recall it, he _loved_ roaming the Fade for spirits," Dorian said, smirking. "Does that sound familiar, Inquisitor? And perhaps you'd be more convinced if you'd seen the mural I saw yesterday—of Fen'Harel removing Dalish tattoos. Maybe _that_ will jog your memory?"

Now Ellana arched an eyebrow and, reluctantly, turned to look at Solas. "What mural is this?"

"A sanctuary through one of the eluvians," he explained calmly. "We found a mural depicting it, yes. It only confirms what I saw in the Fade in my dreams within ruins over the years. The vallaslin were used as slave markings." He glared at Dorian. "Apparently seeking ancient knowledge makes me some kind of god to Dorian. By that definition, I suppose you must be a god as well, Inquisitor, for daring to seek out the Well of Sorrows and Mythal's temple."

The ease with which he could deflect evidence, casting it into doubt or rendering it outright outlandish made her shiver, torn between admiring it as a sign of his formidable intelligence and seeing it as dangerous. How easily could he turn it back on her, using her own affection for him to blind her the way Dorian, Cassandra, and now at least two of her advisors surely believed he already was. She wished they could be honest with everyone, but she refused to betray him. Solas would have to decide when to reveal the truth. 

"Doesn't it seem odd how much Solas knows about the past?" Cassandra put in. Almost sheepish, she looked to Solas, speaking directly to him after first addressing Ellana. "I understand you claim it is all through dreams, exploring the Fade, but…" She broke off, shaking her head. "No. You know too much. And your familiarity with the Fade is…unsettling."

"To your Andrastian faith, it is," Solas rejoined. "But I was raised agnostically, far from the reaches of the Chantry. Why should I be bound and judged to such rules as if they are absolutes when clearly they are not."

"Perhaps you can explain to us how you came to lead the sentinel elves, Solas," Leliana said, her coy smile in place. "Didn't they serve the goddess Mythal? Why would they swear allegiance to _you?_ "

Now Solas faltered, staring at the spymaster but saying nothing.

"Ah," Dorian said, his grin dark with cruel humor. "Now we've come to it—a question he doesn't have a lie for."

"Mythal's sentinels would never serve Fen'Harel," Ellana cut in, glaring at the humans. "The Dread Wolf was no friend of our gods. You're all thinking backwards." She gazed at Solas, smiling a moment before turning back to the others. "This is evidence against your ridiculous claims. I've heard enough of all this."

"Inquisitor," Cassandra protested, her expression horrified. "Please, you must at least consider the possibility. After all that we've seen…"

"And he hasn't answered my question about the sentinels," Leliana added, eyes narrowing. "How does an elven apostate take charge of a dead goddess' sentinels?"

"By giving them purpose," Solas said, biting the words out. "I recruited them into my spy network."

"Oh?" Leliana asked, arching her brow. "What purpose did you give them? What does your network hope to achieve?"

"The same as the Inquisition's," Solas replied stiffly. "A better world."

Ellana smothered her own emotions, staring down at the grain in the wood of the table in front of her. _Half-truths._

"I see," Leliana said, nodding somberly. She drew in a breath and then said, "I'd like to apologize for any role I've had in this mess—to both of you, Inquisitor, Solas."

"I vote we adjourn this," Cullen spoke up then, a look of disgust on his face. "What a waste of time, all this nonsense about elven gods."

"Thank you," Ellana said, nodding to both Leliana and Cullen, yet she noticed the spymaster's blue eyes were slightly pinched at the corners and couldn't shake the suspicion that Leliana was merely diffusing the situation and wasn't about to stop. She'd been opposed to Dorian's actions, but only because she didn't want their evidence exposed in front of Solas…and maybe Ellana too.

The thought made her shudder, arms hugging herself for comfort. Her armor was cold and heavy, still soggy, which wasn't helping at all. "If you'll all excuse me," she said. "I'd like to—"

A creaking noise from the door made them all turn to look as Josephine hurried in, a bright smile on her lips. "Sorry I'm late, everyone! But I've arrived with dinner as an apology." Servants carrying trays of food walked behind her, shuffling and cautious to avoid spilling their cargoes.

Despite the mouthwatering scent of meats, cheeses, and rich desserts, Ellana's gaze lingered on the servants. They were all elven, barefaced city dwellers she assumed, though some might be Solas' Elvhen spies. _A better world,_ Solas had told Leliana. She felt abruptly queasy and weak with emotion, feeling the weight of her child inside her and wondering if it would one day walk bowed under a burden, serving human masters. Not a slave, but not free as she, and Solas in his time, had been.

Weighing the potential cost of that better world—the lives and wellbeing of the other races—Ellana found the fierceness of her own determination frightening. It robbed her of breath and seemed to swell her chest until her ribs ached at the thought of her child subjugated and abused. Aware of Solas just behind her, the realization hit her like a fist to the face that their child would likely be persecuted twice over as both elven and mage. Solas' restored world would elevate both their race and all mages— _she_ would become a mage herself.

But would she sacrifice the other races for the sake of her child and the People if there were no chance to save them? Ellana wanted to believe the answer was no and would always be no…but she could feel herself teetering and it terrified her.

Dizzy and with her body flushing hot, Ellana said, "I'm not feeling well. I'm going to retire for the evening." She shook her head to clear it, quashing the struggle inside herself as she looked to Josephine. "But I do plan to sit on the council again tomorrow."

"Oh, good," Josephine said, her eyes and smile bright. "That is fantastic news. I will relay it to the ambassadors."

"Good night then, Inquisitor," Leliana said, smiling affectionately. "I hope you feel better soon."

Behind her Solas murmured, "You must eat, vhenan."

She sighed, shoulders slouching as the others feigned disinterest in the exchange between the lovers. Turning her back to the humans Ellana said, "I'll have something brought to my room later."

He nodded, blue eyes soft with affection. "I will accompany you and see to it."

"Thank you," she said, resisting the desire to add a term of endearment. Already she knew what the humans must see: a smitten elf woman who refused to doubt her lover. Did they also think Solas feigned his emotions?

Ellana left the study with Solas behind her, ever the dedicated shadow. As the door swung closed behind her she heard Dorian speak, his voice sour with disgust. "Vishante kaffas, those two are joined at the hip."

Her cheeks bloomed with heat overhearing that, but she pushed the embarrassment aside, marching toward the guest wing. Solas' tread followed close behind and as they entered an empty section of hallway Ellana felt the prickling sensation of magic wash over her shoulders. Twisting to look over her shoulder, she asked, "Solas?"

"A healing spell, vhenan."

She stopped and faced him, her brow knitted as she saw the puffiness in Solas' nose had vanished, though the bloodstains on his clothing and skin remained. Unable to hide it, she smirked. "You could have healed yourself at any time."

"Of course," he said, his own smile crooked. "As could Dorian had our positions been reversed. But there was value in letting the others see my blood. In that respect he did me a favor. As the wounded party my arguments had the additional weight of sympathy."

"You're playing the Game," she murmured and shivered, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh. She couldn't pinpoint whether it was trepidation or desire causing the knot in her chest.

"As are you," he replied, whispering. "As we _must_." With one hand he cupped her cheek, caressing with his thumb. "But for you there is only sulahn'nehn." _Happiness and joy._ He edged closer, as if about to kiss her, but the sound of footsteps reached them both at that moment. They paused, eyes locked on each other a moment before his hand fell away and he stepped back. Now Ellana had no doubt it was longing coiling inside her, warm and needy.

She checked on the person approaching and saw with a frown it was an Inquisition scout. _Are we being followed?_ Grabbing Solas' hand, she said, "Join me?"

"Of course." He let her tug him into a position next to her as they resumed walking. "But you _must_ eat."

"Later," she said, uncaring if the scout walking a short distance behind them overheard or not. "After I get out of this wet armor."

They reached the guest wing and the scout tailing them seemed to depart, heading down a different hallway, apparently on some other errand. Ellana didn't believe it though, and by the time they reached her chamber she was shivering with both anger and fear. Her mind kept returning to Leliana's eyes and the way she'd sensed the spymaster only wanted to put her and Solas at ease to play from the shadows until she was ready to strike for the kill.

As Solas closed the door to her chamber, Ellana spoke her thoughts in a choked voice, "They are going to turn against us. Our own friends. My advisors. _All_ of them, Solas. We cannot continue like this…"

"I know, vhenan." He cast her a gloomy look before moving to the nightstand beside the enormous bed where a pitcher of water and a washbasin waited. He poured some into the basin and splashed it onto his lips and chin, washing away the dried blood.

Ellana watched him, still shivering. "What can we do?"

He sighed, his back to her and his shoulders hunched. His head drooped. "You will not like it."

"Tell me," she whispered, taking a step closer.

He raised his head, sniffing once, but didn't pivot to face her. "Disband the Inquisition. Resign as Inquisitor."

"But then I could not stop them if they moved against you," Ellana cried, her heart pounding and her body flushing cold with panic. "And where would we go? How would you remove the Qunari from the eluvian network?"

"That is one of my greatest hesitations in advising you to do this," Solas admitted with a sigh. He turned now to face her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the nightstand, his expression miserable. "Without the might of the Inquisition my people may never clear out the Qunari. They are too many, too focused. They learn quickly as well."

"If I am no longer Inquisitor and I disband the Inquisition, Cassandra could order you arrested and forced into a Circle," Ellana murmured, a cold lump in her throat as she continued toying with the idea from every angle she could.

Solas laughed and her gaze flew to him, baffled. He regained composure quickly, but the smile didn't fade from his lips. "A Circle is the least of my concerns, vhenan. I have grown powerful enough now that they could not contain me if they tried."

The confidence with which he spoke made her shudder, tempted with desire again at the mysterious depths of his power. _One of the Evanuris…_

Seeing her stare, Solas sobered, whispering, "I have fought far more skilled and dangerous opponents and in greater numbers than either Qunari or the Chantry would send for one mage in this modern world. Even with the Veil in place, I am powerful enough now that it would take a sizable contingent of either force to kill me. Far more than they will believe necessary or reasonable to send."

"Do you really think if I disband the Inquisition and resign, my advisors and Cassandra will just let us both walk away?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt. 

"It is possible," Solas said, nodding. "But I would not be surprised if they did threaten to coerce me into a Circle, as you said. Such a result would be disastrous."

"Would you kill them?" Ellana asked, barely breathing the question.

"I doubt I would need to," he said, evasive as always. Ellana wondered just how powerful he was and what he could do, both wishing she could see it yet also dreading it.

"Dorian said you petrified the saarebas' head?" she asked, frowning.

"I did not want him to suffer needlessly, so I gave him a swift death." He confirmed her words with a nod. "Dorian is clever and observant—and I have grown careless as my strength increases." He chuckled, averting his eyes. "It was far easier to feign weakness when I truly was weaker…" He looked to her again, smiling sadly. "And when I was not constantly distracted with worrying over you, the Anchor, and our child."

The swill of emotions she'd felt in the study when she saw the elven servants carrying food, bowed in servitude to human masters, returned to hit her like a fist. Ellana covered her mouth with one hand and closed her eyes, breathing shakily.

"Vhenan?" he asked, leaving the nightstand and closing the distance between them. His warm hands brushed over her shoulders. "You must be freezing." He began unbuckling her belt and then tugging on the scarf and shoulder pads she wore, all of them sodden.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes burning though she fought back the tears. "I'm such a wreck at the smallest things. I saw the servants tonight and I wondered if our child would be a servant someday too and…" Looking up at him, eyes welling with tears that quickly spilled onto her cheeks when she blinked, she whimpered.

Solas embraced her, one hand cradling her head and the other snaking over her shoulders. The sound of his heartbeat and lungs, as well as the warmth of his hands, seemed to unhinge her. She let out a weak sob, pressing her face to his chest. "In that moment I was ready to sacrifice them all for our child, for the People." She shook, clinging to him. "And I hated myself for it."

Solas let out a long exhale, his warm breath fanning over the top of her head. "You mustn't worry yourself over this now, vhenan. The blame is mine. We will not be able to take any action for some time and I will do nothing without being certain of the consequences." He pulled away from her enough to look into her face, both hands rising to cup her cheeks. "We must concentrate for now on escaping the Exalted Council and defeating the Qunari." Pausing, he smiled. "And on getting you something to eat."

She let out a weak laugh. "You are worse than my own mother." Then, seeing the tenderness and determination in his eyes, Ellana felt the needy desire unfurl inside her again and pulled him into a kiss. He met her halfway, lips parted and eager, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to taste her. She pressed closer, returning his passion with her own, already breathing faster.

Her hands dug at his clothing, sliding beneath damp fabric and light chain mesh to find the luxurious warmth of his skin. Solas' fingers slid to her biceps, unlatching the clasps on her chainmail and her armored surcoat without breaking the long kiss. Ellana shrugged out of it with a little shimmying motion, letting it thump onto the loamy carpeting.

Solas' hands on her bare back felt scalding, making her moan and shiver, breaking the kiss. He nuzzled her ear. "You're freezing, vhenan. Let me warm you." The suggestive purr in the words left her skin tingling with excitement. He tugged on her hand, guiding her toward the bed.

Standing behind her in front of the bed, Solas caressed her shoulders, his lips and nose against the base of her neck where her shoulders met. The warmth of his breath and his hands sent shivers through her as he unlatched the lower half of her scout armor. Soon she was naked, leaning against him and sighing as his long-fingered hands traced around one breast and then the other.

As desire tightened the muscles in her lower body, Ellana turned in his embrace, grinning mischievously at him. "I think the best place to warm us both up is between the sheets. Don't you?"

"Yes," he agreed, returning her grin with a wolfish one of his own. He kissed her again, his breath whistling though his nose and beating against her skin like heat from a flame. Ellana's heart pounded, an ache starting up deep within her, longing for him. She pulled on his clothes, and Solas broke the kiss, chuckling as he withdrew a step. "Such impatience."

As he shed his own clothing, Ellana watched with an appreciative eye, admiring his lean frame. The need for him coiled, hot and aching inside her. When he was naked she closed the small gap between them, running one hand over his smooth chest to feel the musculature beneath. The other hand dropped to his prominent erection, gripping and squeezing to tease him. He gasped, his breath puffing against the top of her head. When she gave a few quick strokes over his length he moaned, his hips arching closer to her.

"Now who's impatient?" she teased, grinning up at him.

Solas pulled her into a tight embrace, tilting her head to whisper into her ear. "Let me treat you, tonight."

Lightheaded with want and anticipation, she captured his lips in a heated kiss for a moment, then said, "How could I say no to a god?"

His mouth twisted downward for a fraction of a second, but then he laughed. "Indeed."

Solas moved with her to the bed and Ellana sat at the edge, legs splayed as he knelt in front of her. She shuddered, her body flushing with a rush of blood as he began trailing kisses along the inside of her thigh, his lips soft and gentle. One hand stroked along the outside of her leg, teasing her, while the other worked its way to the small of her back and hip, caressing the skin there. He lingered, drawing closer to her sex and then veering away again, leaving her craving more.

"You tease," she purred, voice already breathy and thick with arousal.

He paused a moment, smirking with catlike enjoyment, blue eyes dark with desire. Then his hand at the small of her back pulled her closer and he ducked low, finally kissing her where she wanted it most. His breath was already scorching on her skin, still chilled by her sodden armor, but his mouth was like fire that made her nerves scream with pleasure.

She gasped, her body rigid and shaking as he caressed her with his tongue, sending pulses of bliss through her. Hands clenching on the bedspread, Ellana moaned as the pleasure began to build, the ache intensifying. He continued the slow, firm strokes with his tongue, occasionally altering to a swirling motion that made her cry out at the waves of heat emanating from her core. Every flick of his tongue against her destroyed her thoughts, annihilating every worry and doubt until there was only the pleasure building within.

And then he went from the swirling motion with his tongue to gently sucking and she gasped, unable to breathe a moment as the climax hit her like a wall. She cried out at the top of her lungs, hips bucking as the waves of pleasure pounded through her. Shaking and sweating, she collapsed onto her back, the muscles in her abdomen clenching and unclenching as the last pangs of bliss rolled over her.

Solas rose from his crouched position and traced a hand up over her thigh, making her twitch as he tweaked a nerve around her hip. She cracked one eye, still breathing fast, and let out a half-moan, half-sigh of contentment. The sight of him, his self-satisfied smile and his own body still redolent with desire made her grin. "And how might I treat you?" she asked, her voice still husky.

He shook his head. "You owe me nothing, vhenan."

Sitting up, Ellana wrapped her arms around him and fell backward onto the bed again, dragging him with her. Perching on top of him, she ran her hands over his chest as she smiled down at him. "Nothing at all?" she crooned as she lowered herself onto him, taking him inside her.

He gasped, both hands immediately grabbing her hips. "Nothing owed," he said, eyes squeezing shut with enjoyment.

"But you'll take whatever I wish to give?" she asked, teasing as she varied the speed of her hips over him. "Is that it?"

He moaned, baring his teeth in a grimace. "Yes." His hands gripped her on either side, moving with her, arching his back to thrust up into her. Ellana ground over him, altering the angle and pace, her muscles taut over him. She could feel his body tense beneath and inside her, quivering as he neared the precipice. The deep moans and gasps from his lips a music that set her heart racing and her body burning from within.

He grunted, strangling his cry of passion, writhing as his own orgasm hit. Clinging to her and driving into her with each thrust as he rode out the climax. The sound of his pleasure and the sight of his gritted teeth with the intensity of it pushed her over the edge again. She cried out, almost with surprise as the wall of pleasure hit her again in waves. Gasping and shaking, she collapsed onto his chest, body heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

Solas stroked her back, making her shiver reflexively. Her body was slimy with sweat—as was his—but no longer chilled. She closed her eyes, sedated by the lingering pleasure and satisfaction of the aftermath, her mind drifting and peaceful. She might've fallen asleep had her stomach not growled then and Solas inhaled sharply, stirring beneath her.

"You're hungry," he said, sitting up and bringing her with him, still in his lap. "I will find a servant and procure us something to eat."

She leaned her forehead against his, kissing him quickly, refusing to remove her arms from around his shoulders just yet. "You really do sound just like my mother—or my Keeper."

Solas' eyes narrowed, his look somewhere between amusement at her teasing and disapproval. "I should hope I sound like a man trying to care for his beloved."

Seeing she'd wounded him, Ellana kissed him again and apologized. "Ir abelas, emma lath. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," he said, smiling. "That is assuming, of course, that you agree to eat something."

She laughed. "You're incorrigible—yes, yes. I'll eat something."

His smile turned smug. "Good."

__________________________________________

**Elven Used:**

_Ma serannas, falon_ : My thanks, friend

_Ir abelas, emma lath:_ I'm sorry, my love

**Next Chapter:**

Now Ellana's lips twisted with sorrow while her eyes narrowed, darkening with anger as she laid a hand over her abdomen, immediately drawing Solas' gaze to the little motion. "If you miss the birth I'm going to name him after Dorian."

Flabbergasted, Solas stared at her with his mouth partly agape a moment before his brow furrowed. "You cannot be serious, vhenan."


	12. Playing the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ellana try to plan a peaceful exit to the Exalted Council.

Two days later, during a lunch recess of the summit, Ellana found herself popping grapes into her mouth as Inan, the elven healer Josephine had found for her, needled her with personal questions.

"When did you last bleed?" the healer asked. She held a parchment and clipboard much like Josephine's. Her quill pen scratched at the paper as she took notes on Ellana's last answers regarding symptoms.

Ellana shrugged in her padded chair. "Honestly, I can't recall. Eight weeks ago?"

Golden afternoon sunlight poured in through her window and a breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers. Ellana let the sunshine beat on her cheeks, soaking it up like a cat as she tried to keep herself from worrying about the summit and Solas and the rapidly approaching moment when she would resign power and return to being nobody again—just a barefaced Dalish elf.

"And do you know who the father is?" Inan asked. She stared at Ellana over her clipboard, one brow raised though her voice had been neutral and businesslike.

Now Ellana felt her cheeks warm with a blush of embarrassment. "Of course I know who the father is!"

"A thousand pardons, Inquisitor," Inan said, dropping into a bow from both he waist and the knees. "I meant no offense. Palace gossip suggested there might be some…uncertainty in the matter."

Ellana rolled her eyes and plucked another grape from the tray of fruits and cheeses in front of her on the writing desk in her bedchamber. "Palace gossip will repeat anything, no matter how ludicrous." She tossed the grape into her mouth and crushed it between her tongue and her front teeth.

"Then the father is an elf?" Inan pressed. "Not one of the humans? Not the commander?"

The spurt of sweet juice from the grape almost choked her as Ellana scowled at the physician. She swallowed before answering. "The father is most _definitely_ an elf. And contrary to popular court belief, I am _not_ involved with Commander Cullen in any way other than a strictly professional relationship." After coughing to clear the grape juice from her throat, Ellana grabbed a square of cheese, fingering it as she glared at Inan. "Are you here to ascertain my health or collect gossip? If so, could you _please_ make sure you repeat that _Solas_ is the baby's father. I'm getting tired of hearing about how I've slept with every man between here and Tevinter."

Inan suddenly grinned. "The Tevinter was my next guess if you told me the child's father was human."

The humor lighting the middle-aged elven woman's eyes was contagious, making Ellana chuckle and then break out laughing. "Dorian?" she asked, shaking her head and then correcting herself. "Ambassador Pavus you mean?" She snorted. "If only you knew."

"Knew what, your worship?" Inan asked, smirking. "That he prefers men?" She laughed at Ellana's startled look. "Oh, yes, his liaisons with that Qunari fellow haven't been exactly discreet. But you needed the laugh."

"Oh," Ellana said, blushing. "I see."

Inan cleared her throat. "Back to business, my lady. The child is a pureblooded elf?"

"Yes," Ellana replied, eating the cheese she'd been toying with between her fingers. "Why does that matter, exactly?"

"Half-bloods are difficult for elven women to carry," Inan explained, a light frown quirking her lips downward. "The babes are too big for elven mothers, humans being bigger-boned as it were. It creates troubled pregnancies and difficult deliveries." She made notes on her parchment again. "Fortunately for you, my lady, that won't be an issue. Now, if you'll allow it, I'd like to examine you physically."

Ellana sighed and took a long sip of her ginger-laced tea to wash down the taste of the cheese. Solas had told her to remain cautious around the healer but that he had no evidence she was a Qunari spy, which suggested she was probably trustworthy. Setting her teacup down, Ellana stood up to face the physician. "Examine away."

Inan set her clipboard and pen down on the writing desk and, after apologizing profusely, began pressing on Ellana's abdomen. Her face contorted with concentration as her hands worked, making Ellana grimace when the physician pressed on her bladder. After a few minutes Inan withdrew, nodding and smiling. "It's early yet, but I'm confident you've got a wee little one there. He'll be born around springtime in the new year."

Ellana shot her a speculative look. "He?"

The healer chuckled. "Apologies, my lady. I always call the babes boys. I've no evidence of it, just seems the mothers appreciate calling it one or the other. Makes the babe realer, especially this early when you don't have the belly to make it obvious." She fell silent a moment, brow furrowing. "That father is a mage, my lady?"

"Yes," Ellana confirmed with a nod. _Does being one of the Evanuris count as being just a mage?_ Licking her lips, she added, "He's a Dreamer mage."

Inan made a face that Ellana couldn't quite read. She reached for her parchment and began taking notes. "Magic is frightfully difficult to predict. Do you have any mages in your immediate family, Lady Lavellan?"

"My brother is First to our Keeper," Ellana answered, unable to keep herself from beaming at the chance to talk about her family, even to a stranger. "My mother was sensitive to magic but not strong enough to cast. Father _was_ First to our Keeper but he was killed when bandits attacked our clan two years ago." The organized bandits sent by the Duke of Wycome who _would_ have killed the entirety of clan Lavellan had it not been for soldiers Ellana sent to defend them. The thought of coming so close to losing them in the violence of that time still made Ellana's chest constrict. It was bad enough she'd lost her father to the attacks.

Inan nodded, still writing frantically. "And the babe's father? How strong does magic run in his family?"

Ellana pinched her lips together, considering how best to answer a moment. "Both of his parents were mages. He's an only child."

"Magic runs strong within the People. I'd bet fifty royals this child manifests talent of _some_ kind, considering his father, his uncle, and three of four grandparents were all mages." She smiled as she finished her note with a little flourish of her pen. "But that's a distant concern. You have to grow the little one first, after all. For now, my lady, I recommend nutritious food and plenty of fluids. Avoid stress and excessive exertion. If you have any concerns or experience pain or bleeding at any time of the day or night, please summon me at once."

Ellana nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Inan."

Bowing, the physician excused herself from the room, leaving Ellana alone with the tray of food and tea—and her thoughts. For the past two days Solas had led Inquisition mages and soldiers with a few of Ellana's inner circle companions into the Crossroads to continue rooting out the Qunari menace. They'd found the Qunari leader, a woman called the Viddasala—which was her title rather than her name, as Ellana understood it—inside a library construct, similar to the one Solas had said his own father worked inside. Ellana wished she could have seen it, but Solas insisted it was too dangerous. The library brimmed with old magic and the Anchor was certain to react. As much as Ellana longed to draw her bow again and don her armor, or do _anything_ other than listen to Arl Teagan rant and rave and foam at the mouth at each summit meeting, it wasn't worth the risk.

She rubbed over her abdomen with one hand, still a bit shocked to realize that a year from now she'd be a mother. The idea was overwhelming and daunting, sneaking up on her at times to steal her breath away and leave her numb with shock. But then she'd remember the pride she saw in Solas' eyes whenever the topic came up and her love for him would blast away any fear she had, leaving only wonder. Who would have thought the Dread Wolf would be a doting father and partner?

Smiling to herself, Ellana popped another grape into her mouth. _Hunt well emma lath, Fen'Harel._

Then, thinking of her family and her clan, Ellana pushed the tray away and dug into the drawer at the writing desk for ink and paper. She didn't write nearly as often as she should, always finding herself busy to the point of constant distraction as Inquisitor, but she knew she had to amend that now. Soon she'd likely be with them again, a hunter and mother of the People…

_Where does that leave Solas?_

She froze, her left hand on the ink pen and the right on the paper. With the death of Ellana's father clan Lavellan had just the acceptable amount of mages: three, two trained and one waiting in the wings. Before their father's death, Ellana's older brother, Mahanon, had been prepared to leave the clan to make room for a child who'd just begun manifesting magic to take the position as Second to the Keeper. The humans' fear of magic placed this restriction on Ellana's people, and as irritating as it was, it worked.

But returning to the clan with Solas would displace Mahanon again and in the two years since their father's death Ellana's brother had taken a wife and welcomed a daughter. Their Keeper would probably not get along with Solas either, considering he had some strong opinions about their lore and traditions. And Ellana had little doubt her child would someday develop magical gifts, considering its father was one of the Evanuris and magic was so prevalent in both families. Eventually then her own child might be traded away or rejected by her clan simply for possessing magic.

The thought made her set the pen down and scrub at her face with frustration. If and when Solas brought the Veil down this would all cease to be a concern. Of course there'd be new, different problems in that case…like finding a way _not_ to kill everyone in the chaos.

A knock came at her door and a servant called, "Your worship, Divine Victoria has reconvened the summit."

"I'm coming." Ellana grabbed a handful of grapes and cheese cubes from the tray and headed for the door.

_______________________________________________

"C'mon, Tiny," Varric said, chuckling. "You've _got_ to have a gut instinct one way or another on this. Boy or girl? It's even odds right now."

"It's _always_ even odds," Dorian muttered, grumbling.

"Yeah," Bull said. "That's why I'm flipping a coin. You can't predict this sort of thing."

Dorian, Iron Bull, and Varric sat behind Solas, just within earshot as they continued placing wagers on the sex of _his_ unborn child. Solas' hands clenched into fists inside his sleeves. He refused to acknowledge their betting or partake in it, but the tips of his ears burned with humiliation and he knew he wore an unhappy scowl that'd probably make Dorian and Varric laugh with delight at his expense if they could see it.

The other scouts and the smattering of mages—all humans this time, he'd noted—that Leliana and Cullen had sent with him on Ellana's orders lingered around the shattered library, foraging its priceless knowledge. They were resting after confronting Viddasala and the dozens of Qunari warriors and saarebas she'd thrown at them. They'd had several injuries and now the mages set about healing them as best they could.

The shattered Elvhen library made Solas' edgy on countless levels. Foremost was his current fear of being unmasked as the Dread Wolf by something within the library itself. The unwounded Inquisition mages and scouts Leliana and Cullen had sent with him on Ellana's orders spent every moment browsing around the books still on the shelves or riffling through the debris on the floor. They were focused and fascinated, as they should be by the ancient Elvhen library and its wealth of forgotten knowledge and history, but Solas suspected it was more than curiosity. Leliana had likely given them orders to actively search for clues about himself and the Dread Wolf. Given long enough to snoop they'd probably find something damning, so he tried to keep them moving.

His second problem was the heavy weight of his crimes against Elvhenan. The library was a perfect reminder of what the Veil had cost his people. The library had once been a beautiful place of eternal learning, where young elves, including Solas himself, had stayed for countless years to learn the accumulated wisdom of the Elvhen Empire. Solas had told Ellana it was _similar_ to the construct his father worked in—but that'd been a half-truth. In fact, this shattered library _was_ where his father had worked, devoting his life to maintaining the construct and its knowledge, and managing its spirit archivists.

Every so often their group had encountered an archivist spirit, still bound but long since fragmented by the sundering of the Fade from the waking world. Solas doubted any of them had the conscious intelligence to recognize him, but he encouraged the Inquisition people to steer clear of them, warning they could be dangerous. He didn't miss the suspicious looks Dorian and many of the others sent his way. They didn't believe him but didn't press the issue because they'd just return to the library and investigate independently once Solas retired for the day to the winter palace, where he'd be under constant surveillance by Leliana. His own spies within the Inquisition and the elves in the Crossroads had already confirmed that the humans returned each night without him.

He was fast running out of time. The humans would spring their trap on him eventually, or possibly find a way to force Ellana to reveal what she knew. What he didn't know was how they'd react after confirming their suspicions. Would they try to imprison him? Kill him? And what of Ellana? The better option was to construct a graceful exit from this mess with her at his side. But how?

"I beg to differ, Tiny," Varric said, still trying to get the Tal-Vashoth to cast an opinion that didn't involve a flip of a coin. "A cousin of mine had a girl a few years back and I had a wager with her husband about it. He wanted a boy but I just felt it in my gut it'd be a girl, and it was. You got to trust your instincts on things like this."

Iron Bull made a noise of displeasure in his throat. "I've heard Orlesians yap about being able to tell by the way a woman carries, but I just don't get it. Maybe that's because we don't have mothers under the Qun, I don't know. A coin toss makes as much sense as seeing the way her belly looks to me."

"Yeah, but it's not as much _fun,"_ Varric insisted. "And the Orlesians are full of crap."

"Just let him toss the coin already," Dorian complained, scoffing. "Besides, even if Orlesians _weren't_ spouting drivel on a near constant basis it still wouldn't help because Ellana isn't going to show for months. Maybe never."

"Does Boss have a wager?" Iron Bull asked.

"No," Varric said, laughing. "And neither does Chuckles."

Hearing his nickname, Solas' head lifted slightly before he stopped himself from looking back at them. He refused to validate their behavior, especially with the current topic. He didn't allow his own mind to wander in that direction even privately.

"It's _their_ instinct I'd bet on," Iron Bull said, amusement deepening his voice. "No offence, Varric."

"None taken, but you know I'm going to be right. Just ask Sparkler." Varric laughed heartily. "I think you _still_ owe me money from a bet before we defeated Corypheus."

Dorian scoffed. "Nonsense. You little liar." He clucked his tongue then and said, "What we really should be betting on is whether it'll be a mage. Fifty royals says it will be. Care to take that wager, Varric?"

Varric laughed. "Are you kidding me? Not a chance."

"Why not?" Dorian asked.

"Because that's like betting I'll have a dream tonight. Everyone knows the answer already. Sparkler, you're not even trying. You just want fifty royals."

Dorian guffawed. "Of course I do! But it's not a foregone conclusion. Have you forgotten I'm Tevinter? The Imperium has been trying to understand magical inheritance for millennia without success. Even with careful breeding, such as in my family, magical talent can be fickle."

Unfortunately this was true, even in Elvhenan. Within Solas' small middle class community he'd grown up alongside children who'd been born with less magical talent than their parents. They and their families lived with the perpetual fear that soon a noble would sweep through and discover they'd been born to the wrong class. Whenever that happened the noble claimed the child like chattel, as if Elvhen children were just another tithe due to the upper class. Solas himself had lived with that same fear, though for the opposite reason. Talented children were conscripted to _join_ the upper class and Solas wanted no part of it even from a young age.

Dorian spoke again a second later and Solas could hear the smug smile and bristled with dislike. "My family lucked out with me, of course. In the magic department, anyway."

Finally at the limit of his patience, and unwilling to let the memories and despair of the library settle onto him any further, Solas straightened from his position leaning his against a bookcase and strode toward the others. "Let us go back to Halamshiral," he said, his voice firm and authoritative. "We can return to the Crossroads tomorrow for the final push to stop the Qunari. We have everything needed to activate the eluvian leading to the Qunari base."

The mages and scouts shuffled to their feet, though several of them groaned, drained from the battle with the Qunari and irritable at Solas' leadership, no doubt. Iron Bull and Varric had no complaints, but Dorian as usual glared venomously. Annoyingly, Dorian insisted on walking with Solas or just behind him, a less than subtle reminder that he still felt he shared power and leadership.

As they exited the eluvian and reentered the Crossroads, Solas lingered by the mirror. He took a headcount as each person passed through the mirror and when the last one came through he stepped in front of the eluvian and raised one hand to it. The warm rush of magic flowed through him, heating his blood with its familiar, sensual caress. He shaped it with willpower alone and channeled it through his hand and into the mirror. The eluvian thrummed, glowing brighter for a second before it faded and went dark.

He sensed rather than saw Dorian lunge for him and, without even looking first, sent a precise veilstrike at the other mage, knocking him flat to the stone of the island in the blink of an eye. Dorian let out a cry of surprise and Solas heard the satisfying thump of his body smashing into the rock as he pivoted to survey the scene.

"Whoa!" Varric shouted, lifting his hands in a placating gesture and stepping forward as if to break up a fight. "Chuckles, Sparkler—let's not get into another shit show. This island isn't big enough for it."

"You bastard," Dorian growled, hauling himself up to his feet and dusting himself off. "What do you think you're doing, turning it off? Vishante kaffas," he cursed, snarling at Solas and jabbing a finger in accusation. "And where did you learn that particular trick? Another wandering hobo in the Free Marches happen to teach you how to shut off eluvians?" He scoffed derisively. "Or I suppose you saw it in _the Fade_."

Solas glared at him, cold and somber. "I learned it from Abelas and Mythal's sentinels." He thrust out his chin. "A better question is why are you trying to attack me?"

"You know why," Dorian snapped, his nose wrinkling with rage. "Don't insult my intelligence pretending otherwise…" He curled his lips with disgust.

"Dorian," Iron Bull said, his voice deep, carrying a note of concern. "Just leave it."

Solas covertly checked the reactions from the Inquisition mages and scouts, finding them schooling their expressions but still unable to hide their open hostility toward him. They all understood why Dorian had reacted with such fury—they didn't know how to reactivate the eluvian and with it dark they'd never be able to access the library and its secrets. Solas had outmaneuvered them and they all knew it. Their only hope was to disguise their disappointment, hoping to hide how little they trusted Solas. Unfortunately for them Solas already knew.

"Fine," Dorian growled. His brown eyes promised retribution and Solas wanted to sigh with annoyance at the Tevinter's temper tantrum.

"If you're finished I'd like to get back to Halamshiral," Solas said, stolid and unruffled.

"Sounds good to me," Varric said, his smile tight. "But if you two are going to start fighting again can you give me a little advance notice? I'd like to charge admission."

"Don't be ridiculous," Dorian said, glaring at both Varric and Solas a final moment before turning his back and striding to the edge of the island to stare out into the Crossroads.

Taking that as his cue, Solas marched toward the scouts and mages from the Inquisition and gestured toward the rock bridge. "Let's be on our way."

They followed the rock bridges, discharging the stored magic in the orbs as the Qunari had to traverse the gaps, and returned to the Halamshiral eluvian without trouble. Solas' thoughts churned, planning and considering various strategies for the inevitable confrontation that was certain to come soon between himself and Ellana's advisors and companions. Varric and Iron Bull and Rainier, who'd joined their expedition yesterday, seemed not to care much about who and what Solas really was, but that could change as they learned more. It was Cassandra and Dorian who posed the greatest threat as they were already convinced he was Fen'Harel and had betrayed them.

He turned his thoughts to Ellana. He had to protect her and their child from the maelstrom to come, and the best way to do that was to outplay them in the Game. The answer that had repeatedly leapt into his mind was that he needed another emotional sleight of hand to make the humans doubt and hesitate—much the way he'd let himself bleed after Dorian punched him. He had the ideal distraction in mind: a marriage proposal. But doing it as part of the Game made him feel queasy with shame. It'd also be an insult to Ellana if she saw it as disingenuous.

Inside the winter palace again he separated from the others, leaving Dorian to report to Leliana and Cullen on their success routing Qunari from the shattered library. He knew they'd want to exclude him anyway as Dorian would report Solas shutting down the eluvian without consulting anyone, placing them in a tough position. They'd have to seek Solas' knowledge directly about how to turn the mirror on again or experiment on their own. Either way, Solas was content to let them flounder about while he returned to Ellana for the evening to make plans of their own.

___________________________________________

As Divine Victoria ended the summit for the day Ellana got to her feet and bid the politicians, Cassandra, and Josephine goodbye. The day had been hot and humid again, not as bad as the previous few afternoons, but Ellana still longed for a bath to cleanse the sticky sweat from her body and ease the tension from her muscles. Striding out of the pavilion she saw the usual variety of Orlesian palace guards and Inquisition scouts—and Dorian, leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor.

When his eyes met hers he immediately started toward her and the stiffness of his tread and the hunched set of his shoulders made her stomach clench. Whatever had brought Dorian to her now, it couldn't be good. Before she could stop herself, Ellana frowned at him and when he was within earshot she asked, "You didn't hit Solas again, did you?"

"No," he replied, his brow furrowing and his gaze angry. "But I damn well wanted to." He glanced around, seeing the masked guards and Inquisition personnel all pretending not to have any interest in their conversation and sighed. "Perhaps we might speak somewhere privately?"

Despite the growing knot in her stomach, Ellana nodded and forced herself to smile. "Of course."

She led him away from the pavilion and down the hall to the study that'd been reserved for her and her advisors to use as needed. Inside she let Dorian through first and closed the door behind them. When she turned round she saw Dorian strolling through the room, searching for eavesdroppers with his hands elevated slightly, as if about to cast. "Dorian?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"Just being thorough," he said with a cluck of his tongue. "I learned back home that you can never be too careful. There's always some filth ready to spy for coin."

Ellana moved to stand in front of the table, waiting as patiently as she could with the knot inside her twisting on itself, nauseating her now. Finally Dorian seemed satisfied with his pass around the room and joined her at the table, standing to her right in what was usually Cullen's position. He fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his arms and shifting from side to side.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Dorian scowled, averting his gaze from hers. "I wanted to warn you."

She blinked. "Warn me? About what? Solas?"

"Yes," he said, his unhappy look deepening. "But not in the way you think."

Wary and cautious, Ellana took a step backward. She shook her head. "If this is about that ridiculous theory of yours that Solas is some kind of god—"

"No, no," Dorian interrupted her, waving a hand dismissively. "Well, yes, actually. But I already know you won't listen to me." He sniffed and the anger leeched out of his face as he paled, meeting her eye again. "The truth is I can't _stand_ Solas. I don't know what or who he really is, but I know it can't be good. Anyone who hid this much for this long is cunning enough to use all of us. And I think that's _exactly_ what he's been doing—but to you most of all." He shook his head. "I'd like to be wrong about him, but I'm never wrong about this sort of thing. Still…"

"Solas isn't using me," Ellana said, unable to keep herself from springing to his defense.

Dorian's brown eyes narrowed. "I take it you know something more than the rest of us about him? A sort of lovers' special insight? I hope you do, though I _am_ disappointed you wouldn't at least tell _me._ "

Ellana tapped one finger on the table to her left, eyes closed as she struggled to school her reaction and find an appropriate response. "I appreciate your concern, Dorian," she started, still unable to meet his stare. "But I trust Solas and you all should too. We all have things in our past we aren't proud of. Solas is no different and I respect his desire to maintain privacy."

"There's maintaining privacy, Ellana, and then there's aiding ancient beings aspiring to godhood." His lips twisted in a snarl at the last word. "Just because this particular being isn't from Tevinter I—"

Ellana cut him off with a groan. "Please, Dorian. Not this again."

"Fine," he snapped, sullen at her terseness. "I just wanted to warn you that the others have started considering more…extreme methods of handling him. Cassandra in particular is _most_ irritable."

"Extreme how?" Ellana asked, edging closer again, arms crossed over her chest. "Is he in danger?" She suddenly felt her eyes burning hot with emotion and closed them, sucking in a shaky breath. "I cannot believe I have to ask that. Have you all really forgotten that Solas is on our side?"

Dorian snorted. "Is he? From here I'm not so sure, and I worry for you." His expression softened. "That's why I wanted to warn you. Not for him, but for you…and, ah…" He smirked and motioned at her lower body. "The little one. My father wasn't exactly ideal, what with blood magic and all that rubbish, but I'm glad I knew him. Your child should have the same, even if its father _is_ an unspeakable ass."

"Dorian," Ellana scolded, shifting from side to side a moment and then letting out a breath to calm herself before asking, "What danger is Solas in?"

Dorian's jaw clenched, a muscle feathering in his temple a second before he answered, "Divine Victoria is considering calling for his arrest as an apostate."

"She wants to force him into a Circle?" Ellana asked, her body flushing cold at the news. This was what Solas had predicted. Ellana had just hoped he was wrong.

"Mostly she just wants to get the truth from him and get him away from you," Dorian admitted. "I protested when it became clear they would consider charging you with crimes as well to prevent you interfering. So they threw me out of the meeting as a sympathizer."

Ellana flinched, a painful lump growing in her throat. "How could they betray me like this?" she whispered.

"They believe you will not see reason because of your feelings for him. And, of course, your condition." He shook his head, his eyes soft with sympathy but his lips pinched in a hard line. "If it makes you feel any better, old girl, they were torn up about it and they repeatedly told me any charges against you would be dismissed. They only want to keep you away long enough to get the truth from him. To be honest I don't really believe they'd do more than threaten to put him in a Circle."

Hands clenching at her sides, Ellana growled out, "I can't believe this."

"You want my advice?" Dorian asked, arching one sculpted eyebrow. "Order Solas to leave the summit. Have him retire. Didn't Varric give you an estate in Kirkwall? Or have him join your clan. Whatever you like. You're expecting and I assume he's at least pretending to have accepted that, yes? He'd better be. Anyway—take advantage of that to get him away from Divine Victoria and the eluvians. If he'll let go of all that…" Dorian sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Then I'd admit I've been wrong about him and I suspect the others will as well."

"Or they'll just arrest him on the road," Ellana said, snarling the words. Her limbs felt shaky, her skin flushed with hot fury. Yes, Solas was hiding the truth from them, but he'd done nothing but _aid_ them. Against the Qunari. Corypheus. Why couldn't they just accept he was on their side?

"Possibly," Dorian admitted, shrugging. "But my money's on the others choosing caution. They don't _want_ to arrest him. They don't want to move against him because it insults you. They _want_ to trust you. I want to trust you."

"Then trust me," Ellana retorted, glaring.

"I do," Dorian shot back, his cheeks burning red. "That's why I'm here warning you. Come clean if you know something, or send him away and see if he'll obey." His expression and voice took on a pleading tone. "Give it some thought, yes?"

She nodded somberly, then, glad of the excuse her pregnancy provided, she laid a hand over her abdomen and said, "If you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a bit tired."

"Yes," Dorian murmured, smiling slightly now. "I imagine it's terribly hard work constructing another person, especially one that's half-Solas." He chuckled at her sour look. "No wonder you've been so sickly lately."

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she started walking for the door. "Very funny." Her mind buzzed with alarm as she entered the hallway, though she tried to keep her face from showing it. Walking at a brisk pace, Ellana headed straight for the guest wing and her bedchambers, hoping to find Solas there as she had for the last two days.

__________________________________

"We expected this, vhenan," Solas said when he'd heard Ellana's story of Dorian warning her of the danger to himself. The mixture of anger and pain he saw contorting her beautiful features set his own chest aching hollowly, though he'd already predicted this. "I wish it were otherwise, but the moment I entered the eluvian on that first day after we arrived I knew this moment would come."

He didn't add that Dorian's warning was an unexpected and thoughtful detail, one he hadn't anticipated. It was to Ellana's credit that Dorian cared enough to make the effort, despite despising Solas. As for Cassandra, Solas knew the former Seeker turned Divine would always seek justice and duty first and foremost. Ellana saw Cassandra's part in it as personal betrayal, but Solas knew it was a last resort for her. Had Solas not been Ellana's lover Cassandra would've long since arrested him for interrogation. As her past conflict with Varric demonstrated, she hated being misled. Solas had offended her sense of justice, of right and wrong. _Of course_ she would try to find the truth, and Solas respected her for it. What else could she do as Divine and as a former Seeker but follow her conscience?

As for Leliana and Cullen—Solas suspected Josephine was too thoroughly distracted with the Exalted Council to be actively involved—their concerns were about security within the Inquisition. Already Solas' Inquisition spies had started telling him they'd been assigned menial work or guard duties exclusively, and their human compatriots had grown increasingly tightlipped. Solas' spies also reported that all elves seemed to be experiencing the same treatment. Patrols, guard rotations, and even sleeping and break room areas had become racially-divided. The Inquisition was fast transforming into a racially charged barrel full of gaatlok, just waiting for a spark to set it off.

"Then what do we do?" Ellana asked, her voice miserable with grief. She reclined on their enormous bed while Solas sat at her writing desk several meters away. Dinner had arrived on a tray along with tea. The tray was on the foot of the bed, hardly touched despite Solas' frequent suggestions that she eat more.

"Dorian's suggestion that I retire is not a bad one," he said with a slight nod of his head. "Unfortunately I cannot stop working within the Crossroads yet."

"But the Qunari will be beaten soon," Ellana protested, a note of pleading in her voice.

"And when they are gone my people will remain in the Crossroads," Solas told her, blank and to the point. "Even fragmented and shattered as they are, they're invaluable. I must maintain a presence there and restore the network."

"But do you have to be there personally?" she asked, a speculative look on her face.

He smiled at her, quashing the anxious squirming from Fen'Harel in the back of his mind. The wolf knew the danger and turmoil he'd cause for himself and his goals by doting on Ellana the way he longed to as lover and expectant father. He wanted to reassure her that he would be at her side throughout, but every day he was away or distracted they could lose ground in their fight to restore the world and the People. His network of sentinels and Elvhen warriors knew that only _he_ could reshape the world, so if he wavered their hopes crashed into the abyss. He needed to compromise: Ellana would stay somewhere safe and he would split his time between her and his goals as Fen'Harel.

His tone cautious, he said, "I cannot afford to be away physically from my people or the Crossroads for long—but I will not leave you until I know you are safe. And I will visit as often as I—"

She interrupted him, "No."

Blinking, he shook his head as if he'd heard her wrong. "Excuse me?"

Ellana shot him a glare. "You are _not_ leaving me in Kirkwall or with my clan while you vanish to risk your life for months on end." Chin trembling and eyes suddenly moist, she still somehow managed to look more angry than upset. "I'm going with you."

Grimacing, Solas huffed with frustration. "Vhenan, what you ask is impossible. More than that, it is foolish. You cannot—"

"Then it's a good thing I'm not asking," Ellana cut in. She sniffed, wiping at her eyes as she regained her composure without actually shedding a tear.

Solas glowered. "I will not allow you to harm yourself. There will be ruins brimming with Elvhen magic that could destabilize the Anchor."

"You need me," she said, pinning him with her hard green-eyed stare.

Something in her tone made Solas hesitate with wariness. What did she know? Finally he said, "I need you healthy and safe, emma lath. There will come a time when your condition will slow you and hamper your movement."

"Not for months yet," she said with a dismissive gesture. "But until then I can help. You'll need the Anchor eventually, won't you? It was part of your orb. Can it do something I'm not aware of?"

Solas tilted his head to one side, like a dog hearing an intriguing word. He _would_ require the Anchor to fulfill his plans eventually, and it had been one of his ongoing trouble spots. He'd expected to reclaim the Anchor as part of the orb originally, but then found Ellana had claimed it through chance. That had been one primary reason he joined the group at Haven, to keep an eye on the Anchor. At the time he'd hoped to claim it if Ellana died, knowing from the first time he examined her hand that the Anchor had adhered to her completely so that even if he had possessed his orb he wouldn't be able to remove it. He hadn't lied to Ellana when he told her he'd spent much of the last two years seeking a way to remove it from her. Primarily now he wanted to save her life, but he couldn't deny he also needed the Anchor for his own purposes.

"Well?" Ellana pressed, sitting up and scooting closer to the foot of the bed.

Explaining this aspect of his plan wasn't something he relished, but he'd promised not to lie to her and enough time had passed with him silent that she'd guessed his reluctance. So he went for honesty and evasion, hoping to explain in more detail later.

"I will eventually require it, yes. But—"

"Then you need me," Ellana said, firm and confident. "Let me help you." He didn't miss the way her left hand in her lap flexed, as if eager to be put to the test. "You need to walk physically in the Fade again, don't you?"

"Yes," he admitted, but didn't elaborate even under the weight of her keen-eyed stare. Instead he focused on dissuading her. "Using the Anchor will only destabilize it."

"I've used it for years," she reminded him. "I think you're being overly cautious."

"Of course I am," Solas said, frowning as irritation lashed him with heat. "I have no desire to see the Anchor destabilize. If it does, it will cause you great pain and will ultimately kill you unless I take your arm. We have discussed this. The magic of the Crossroads and Elvhen ruins _will_ destabilize the Anchor. It is only a matter of time. The more you use it, the sooner you'll lose control."

She turned her head, sighing. Her shoulders sagged as if an invisible weight settled on her shoulders. "We're off track," she murmured. "There are more pressing concerns at the moment." Her left hand opened and closed again in her lap and the seemingly idle motion told Solas she hadn't forgotten it and hadn't let it go.

"Indeed," he agreed with a nod. "I propose we continue as before. The Inquisition's forces will make short work of the Qunari Dragon's Breath. As soon as it has been dealt with you must disband the Inquisition and retire as Inquisitor."

Ellana's brow furrowed. "But then Cassandra will have you arrested as an apostate."

"She may try, yes," Solas admitted with a little frown as he considered proposing to her again. Dorian was right that it was the proper action for him to take considering her pregnancy and it _could_ cast legitimate doubt on their suspicions about his identity. Fen'Harel was unlikely to retire from covert life as an elven spymaster in favor of domestication. Even humans with minimal knowledge of Dalish legends would see that as uncharacteristic of a trickster god.

He licked his lips, about to suggest it to her and then pushed it aside. She deserved better. How could she ever know he hadn't been pressured into it in the hopes of misleading their companions? So instead he said, "I am not afraid of Divine Victoria's wrath. She cares too much for you to be a true threat to me. But if I am apprehended you must not endanger yourself by fighting them overmuch. Let me be questioned while you feign innocence and outrage. Do not reveal my identity no matter how they bluster."

"You won't tell them who you are?" Ellana asked, shooting him a nervous look.

He shook his head. "No, as I have said, it would imperil my plans if they knew the truth and they would never support bringing down the Veil, even if doing so did not bring chaos to the world they know." Rising to his feet, he crossed to the bed and held onto the bedpost. An anxious pang shot through his chest at her doubtful expression, but he pressed on anyway. "Before you disband the Inquisition you must publically order me to retire from the eluvian network. You must be suspicious of me and angry when I seem to resist. I will then publically capitulate to your authority as Inquisitor."

Ellana smirked. "In public only, of course." She shook her head, the humor leaving her face. "They won't believe any of it. They'll know you're playing the Game."

"They may," Solas said with a somber nod. Heat crept over his cheeks, burning him as he considered again suggesting marriage and once more dismissed it. Clearing his throat, he murmured, "I intend to travel with you and Varric to Kirkwall—or to your clan, if you wish. If we are followed by spies it will prove a boring journey for them as I will not leave you."

"I'll need to write to my clan to let them know first and I doubt they'd get my letter and be able to answer before we have to leave. So that means Kirkwall. The journey will take weeks," Ellana said, making a face that was both hopeful and unhappy at once. "Can Abelas and the others spare you that long?"

With an effort he kept himself from wincing with his own hesitations at the absence and nodded. "I have been away that long before. Of course I will have to leave again before winter."

Now Ellana's lips twisted with sorrow while her eyes narrowed, darkening with anger as she laid a hand over her abdomen, immediately drawing Solas' gaze to the little motion. "If you miss the birth I'm going to name him after Dorian."

Flabbergasted, Solas stared at her with his mouth partly agape a moment before his brow furrowed. "You cannot be serious, vhenan."

"I am completely serious," she said, her expression hard and unyielding except for the small quiver of her lips. "Dorian's a good name and it will be fitting punishment for you."

Solas shook his head, blinking a few times as her earlier words registered with him anew, but from a different angle. "Him?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. The memory of Varric, Dorian, and Iron Bull bickering about the sex of his child returned again but now he didn't feel the same tension and irritation, only the pulse of excitement and the warm press of love swelling in his chest. "You believe our child is a boy?"

The twitch in her lips gave way to a grin that lit her eyes and made his heart pound suddenly with desire. "My brother had a daughter. It feels right that I should give the clan a son."

Before Solas could stop himself he blurted, "Not the clan."

She tilted her head, shooting him a wary glance, uncertain of his meaning. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Solas murmured, dropping his gaze to the bed and the barely touched food tray. "That was rude of me." The possessive heat still roiled inside him, hitching up his breathing rate. He tried to tamp it down as he struggled to explain himself. "I understand you see our child as belonging to clan Lavellan, but—forgive me—my first instinct was to…" He shook his head, frustration making him sigh and opt for bluntness. Lifting his eyes to search her green ones, he said, "Our child is ours, vhenan. It is Elvhen first. It is…mine."

Ellana stared at him a few heartbeats and then her lips curled in a smile. "Then I expect you to be there when he's born." Then, with a bit of annoyance, she added, "And there's no way you're going to keep him from meeting my clan."

"No, of course he will meet your clan, but…." Solas broke off, suddenly chuckling. "Now you've made me start calling our child _him._ "

"You disapprove?" she asked, her voice tight.

"No," he murmured, contemplating it. "My concern is that we not forget that we do not truly know. Our child, and every child, deserves to be received by parents who will adore it without preconceptions and restrictions. In Elvhenan I saw far too many children with shattered confidence because they failed their families' expectations."

She scooted over the bed and shuffled toward him on her knees. Solas reached out to support her, embracing her and inhaling deeply. She smelled of ginger and lavender, one from her stomach calming tea and the other from the bath. "Boy or girl, mage or not, I'll love our child because it is ours. Ours first, as you said. My love is unconditional, emma lath, for both of you."

Smiling, Solas kissed her, and in the back of his mind made the decision to propose to her—but only once they'd escaped Halamshiral and the intrigue of the Game. She deserved to know he'd chosen to commit to her and the promise of their fledgling family because he wanted it, not because it might protect his alter ego as Fen'Harel.

____________________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

Clamping her mouth shut, Cassandra's eyes dropped to the floor as she sighed. "Then we have nothing further to say to each other—but I did this for you as much as for our security. I will always be your friend, and part of that is knowing when another has lost her way. Your feelings for Solas have allowed you to be blind to his—"

"Yes," Ellana growled, jabbing a finger in Cassandra's direction. "My feelings have allowed me to accept Solas for who and what he really is, not who I wish him to be, while you and the others only see him as a nefarious knife-eared apostate. If he were human you would not care."

Cassandra frowned. "And what _is_ he exactly, Inquisitor?"


	13. By Order of Divine Victoria…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas receives some good news from one of his agents. And then he gets arrested.

Solas found Zevanni through the thick green mists of the raw Fade, standing at attention and waiting for him. Her brown hair was cropped short and her cinnamon skin had a grayish pallor in the less than flattering light of the Fade. She stood atop a small rounded hillock in the Fade, surrounded by stagnant, slimy pools of water.

He walked to her, taking his time and letting the Fade flow around him, its green mists caressing his skin. Reaching the hillock, he stared up at her lithe frame. She wore thick leather armor and a proud expression on her face. Her eyes found his and Solas felt something zinging like electricity wash over him. It set his heart pounding with anticipation. The silent communication between them as two Dreamers told him she'd had success.

Climbing the hillock, he did not speak until he was close enough to reach out and grasp her shoulder. "What have you found?"

Zevanni smiled, tightlipped but triumphant. One hand emerged from behind her back, palm up. The green mists of the Fade coalesced at the power of her will, flowing together and creating a transparent circular shape. An orb.

"A foci," she answered.

"Which Evanuris?" Solas asked, scrutinizing the ghostly image Zevanni had constructed in her palm for clues.

"Several," Zevanni said. "When I touch it I taste Dirthamen's magic, but also Falon'din and Sylaise."

Solas nodded, piecing the clues together from her explanation and his knowledge of Evanuris history. Falon'din had started a civil war when he attacked Dirthamen's lands, seeking more resources and slaves. Or out of vengeance against Dirthamen for some family drama. It began when Dirthamen, Falon'din's "brother," entered uthenera after his bond mate, Falon'Din's favorite daughter, left him due to his infidelity. Scandal followed and, somehow, Falon'Din's daughter wound up dead. Falon'Din blamed Dirthamen for it, as well as Mythal, though they of course denied any involvement in the death. With Dirthamen in uthenera to hide from that scandal, he was powerless to stop Falon'Din as he lay waste to his people.

Eventually Falon'Din moved onto Mythal's lands and that was finally when Mythal and the other Evanuris stepped in just in time to restore order. After bloodying Falon'Din in his own temple they combined power to bind Falon'Din in uthenera. The Evanuris eventually described the resulting chaos of Falon'Din's power grab and binding as his distraught reaction to Dirthamen vanishing into uthenera without telling him.

Nearly five hundred years later Dirthamen awoke and sought out his "brother" for an explanation but could not access him even in dreams because of the Evanuris' binding spell. He convinced the other Evanuris eventually to allow him to join Falon'Din for a few years under the same binding spell so that he could commune with his "brother" and see if Falon'Din could be unbound.

Somehow the Dalish had warped this horrific event into a tale of brotherly devotion where Dirthamen sought Falon'Din out in the beyond. They forgot the bloody civil war. They forgot Falon'Din's cruelty as he demanded the lower classes of Dirthamen's lands bow to him and submit to his vallaslin. They forgot that when these elves refused to kneel, Falon'Din tore them apart with a casual flick of his fingers and laughed about it.

Solas had seen it all first-hand—it'd been Falon'Din's civil war in fact that drew him out of the wilds and into Arlathan's court.

Solas brushed his fingers through the transparent foci, his lips curling in a snarl at the ancient memories. "Doubtless this foci was Dirthamen's originally, then became a spoil of war to both Falon'Din and Sylaise." He glanced at her face. "Where did you find it?"

"Forgotten in a Tevinter magister's attic, some family heirloom gathering dust." Her expression warped with disdain. "Fucking shem."

Like Mathrel and Lyris, Lanya and Var, Zevanni had served Solas before uthenera and knew exactly who and what he was. She was one of his most powerful lieutenants and could shape the Fade in her dreams despite the Veil. She'd been born to the middle class like him but hadn't escaped a noble's notice and soon found herself separated from her family and thrust into the Game in Arlathan's court. Solas had befriended her as the outsider she was, guiding her the way Mythal had with him. They'd been lovers periodically, but the relationship was mostly physical, a balm for them both to cope with the injustice of Elvhenan and the constant danger as they plotted against the Evanuris.

"Is it fully charged?" Solas asked, examining the image of the foci again.

"It burns yellow when I cast near it. Hurts like Elgar'nan's fire if I'm holding it."

Solas nodded and let out a little breath, closing his eyes. _This changes everything._ He'd imagined they'd not find another fully charged foci for years, but they'd gotten lucky. Searching in Tevinter had been the obvious choice from the start, but it satisfied multiple goals at one time for Solas. Tevinter had sacked Arlathan, making it a treasure trove of artifacts from Elvhenan. And it was also the seat of modern day slavery. Solas had spent the last two years taking on both issues with all the ferocity and stamina of his animal namesake.

"Tell me of the rebellion," he said.

Zevanni clenched her fist and the foci disappeared, dissolving into green Fade mists. "Last week was riots," she said, grinning. "Day before yesterday I killed a slaver in his sleep. Today my thieves brought me the foci. Tomorrow my spies have heard the some lords in Nevarra called for an alienage outside  Trevis to be purged with fire." Her grin hardened with bloodlust. "My people are in place and the city elves have been armed. Those soldiers are going to regret they were ever born. And once the fighting is over, we'll help them vanish and scatter."

He smiled, nodding his approval. "Very good."

Zevanni had always been ruthless and violent, but cunning as well. She'd organized rebellions among slaves before, and like Solas she could cast the spell to remove vallaslin. In Elvhenan that'd allowed her to recruit slaves freed of compulsion to the Evanuris. Now in the modern world it allowed her to remove Dalish vallaslin, letting them pass as city elves if desired. Because, encouragingly, angry Dalish clans near Tevinter who'd lost more than a few children or clan members to slavers, were happy to join Fen'Harel for revenge against the Imperium. According to Zevanni they made excellent guerrilla fighters, darting in to attack caravans of supplies or slaves and then flitting away like shadows.

Zevanni's brown eyes locked onto him, wide and dark with something like lust. She licked her lips. "The foci is what you needed to destroy the Veil," she said. "When do you strike? I want to be at your side when victory is near. You may need my magic."

Solas stared past her at the green stone of the Fade, the vapors winding and shifting idly. "There are extenuating circumstances that will delay me," he admitted, deliberately vague. "We must ensure this world is prepared for the chaos that is to come."

With a little impatient huff, Zevanni nodded. "As you say, Fen'Harel." She ducked into a bow. "I am currently traveling with several of my most trusted agents. We will reach the eluvian and enter the Crossroads in two days. Will I meet you in Revasan?"

"I am unable to leave the winter palace," he told her, scowling. "My position is too precarious to meet you. I will send Lyris and Mathrel in my stead."

"Pity," she said, her eyes roving over him.

Solas ignored her perusal and instead began issuing new orders. "Continue the chaos across Tevinter and Nevarra. Make the slavers count their every breath a blessing from their Maker. Bring your latest recruits into your dreams in two weeks and I will test their mettle as—" He stopped, catching his breath as a chill passed through him, prickling his skin and tensing his muscles.

Zevanni raised her eyebrows. "Hahren?"

Cold, ghostly fingers brushed Solas' ear. He batted one hand at it and twisted to search behind him, but the Fade was empty. A voice whispered in his ear: _"They woke before dawn to catch you, the wolf in the snare."_

"Go," he ordered Zevanni. "I must waken."

"Two weeks from now with the recruits?" Zevanni asked.

"Yes," Solas said, raising his voice with mounting impatience. "Now, go."

She nodded and pivoted, striding down the hillock at a jog. The Fade mists parted for her as she ran, splashing through the stagnant, slimy puddles. The raw Fade twisted around her, the rocks growing into slender tropical trees to reflect her physical location in the real world.

Solas closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and willed himself awake. Opening his eyes, he gasped as he saw Cole sitting on the bed beside him, his fingers on his ear. He checked with one hand, finding Ellana's warm body close, still asleep. He blinked up at Cole, realizing the sun had risen enough to illuminate their room in a bluish, soft light.

"Cole?" he asked, voice bleary and his heart still pounding away in his chest. "What's wrong?"

The spirit boy's eyes glazed over but his words trembled as he spoke. "She gives the order, hands clenching, bitter taste in her mouth, pain. She doesn't want it, but she won't risk doing nothing."

Ellana made a sleepy noise in her throat and mumbled, her hand finding his bare chest and stroking. Without looking away from Cole, Solas gripped her hand in his and squeezed. The sense of doom beat on him like the Fade stones he hurled at enemies. He already suspected he knew what Cole was trying to say.

"Are they coming to arrest me, Cole?"

"Armor clanking, swords clattering. _'Maker, let him come peacefully.'_ "

Solas let go of Ellana's hand and rubbed his face. "I see."

"Are you going to run?" Cole asked, blue eyes curious and innocent.

"No, but I appreciate the warning. You have my thanks—yet again." He felt Ellana stirring and said, "Will you watch over her?"

"Yes," Cole confirmed with a dip of his head. The broad brim of his hat blocked his face a moment. "She's bright and glimmering. Two souls. One is sharp, heavy, full. The other light, dreaming, formless. Both waiting, waiting…"

Despite the circumstances, Solas smiled, understanding Cole's spirit-speak easily. He twisted to caress Ellana's cheek, watching as she gradually came out of sleep, blinking up at him. "Solas?"

"Vhenan," he whispered. "Cole woke me with a warning. I believe Cassandra has called for my arrest sooner than we anticipated."

Her eyes sprang open wide and she sat up, cursing. "Fenedhi _s_!" Before Solas could protest she was out of bed and scrambling to dress. She noticed Cole as she tore about the room, grabbing at the various pieces of her formalwear, and stopped to smile, friendly but tense with the storm that was fast approaching. "Hello, Cole. Thank you for helping us."

"I like helping," he answered, smiling guilelessly.

Ellana went to the privy and Solas heard her rustling about as she dressed, pouring water into the washbasin to scrub her face. Slow with reluctance, Solas left the warm comfort of their bed and grabbed his own clothes from the top of the gilded dresser nearby, shrugging into his tunic. He slipped the lacquered jawbone over his head, pausing to touch it and close his eyes, remembering the real animal it'd belonged to—his only friend for years after he first left his village and ventured alone into the wild.

"Old pain," Cole said behind him, his voice whispery. "Brown eyes glazed and lightless, breath shuddering out one last time—fur still so soft. _'Go in peace, my friend.'_ "

Solas smiled, sad at the reminder, and returned to dressing. As he slipped on his coat Ellana reemerged, her skin pallid and her expression drawn. Reaching for her, Solas embraced her. "Don't fight them, vhenan." He stroked her hair. "I will find a way out of this and then we will proceed as planned."

"I can't believe she'd do this…" Ellana said, choking on the words. "She can't just—"

A loud thumping came at the door and a male voice called out, "Inquisitor! Open the door!"

A chilled breeze wafted over Solas' scalp and he knew without looking that Cole had taken the moment to vanish. Sighing, Solas released Ellana and motioned to the door. "We had best not keep them waiting."

Stepping away from her just enough to cup her face in his hands, Solas kissed her, hoping to offer comfort. Cassandra and the others weren't going to harm him, truly. He just needed to outlast their suspicions and weather the interrogation to come. Considering he'd endured far worse scrutiny and suspicion from the Evanuris, he felt little more than the lash of irritation at the humans' interruption to his plans. But to Ellana it was a betrayal, a knife in the ribs, and seeing her pain made something inside him gnaw on itself.

When more pounding came at the door, Solas broke the kiss, pausing a moment to stare into her eyes, drinking in her features and brushing his thumb over her lips. "Ar lath ma, vhenan."

Releasing her, Solas strode to the door and opened it to see five Templars in full armor outside. Their presence sent cold prickles over his skin as his body instinctually reacted to their magic suppression abilities. This was something unique to this modern world. In Elvhenan magic was countered with stronger magic, or with devices like foci that could absorb and store it. The ancient elves saw no value in sapping or suppressing it.

"Apostate Solas," one of the Templars addressed him. "By decree of Divine Victoria, you are to be taken into custody." All five men tensed, hands on their sword hilts, ready to draw them.

Behind him Ellana's feet pounded over the carpet in muted thumps. She edged into the doorway next to him, glowering venomously at the Templars. "Solas is under protection of the Inquisition."

"Ellana," Solas murmured, gentle but firm.

The speaker nodded, his eyes narrowing in the visor of his shiny, steel helmet. "Divine Victoria understands that. She also understands that the Inquisition was formed to serve the Chantry." His lips curled in a snarl. "You will yield, Inquisitor."

"Ellana, let me go with them willingly—as a show of good faith." His heart hammered, sweat beading under his armpits and along the groove in his back.

She looked at him, fury and fear and pain laced together in her beautiful face. Solas held himself rigid, refusing to reach out or kiss her in front of the guards no matter how much he longed to do so. But he did plead with her using his eyes, confident that Cassandra and these Templars weren't truly a threat. This was just another part of the Game and if he could reassure their former allies he posed no serious threat…

Nostrils flaring with emotion, Ellana glared at the Templars now. "One of you, take me to Divine Victoria."

"We are not yours to command," the speaker snapped at her. Then, to Solas, he motioned. "Come along with us."

"Of course," Solas said, polite and docile. He entered the hallway, letting the five Templar surround him, making his body stiffen at the nearness as his magic recoiled. Sneaking a last look at Ellana, he saw her red in the face with rage, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Then the Templars started marching down the hallway—an escort of jailers.

 _I'll return soon, emma lath,_ he promised her inwardly. _Please, be patient._

______________________________________

"You left me no choice, Inquisitor," Cassandra said, baring her teeth in a grimace. "Every report I receive from Leliana and Cullen about the Crossroads only leads me to suspect Solas further. We tried to make you see reason but—"

"Reason?" Ellana cut in, shouting and shaking with fury. "Reason? You call arresting the man who saved my life at Haven and was instrumental in closing the Breach _reasonable?_ " Her shoulders heaved, hunched with the tension setting her body rigid. "And why? Based on _ridiculous_ suspicions that he's some kind of vessel for one of my people's gods? The worst of them, in fact." She shook her head only to sway slightly, the room spinning.

"It is not as farfetched as you make it sound," Cassandra insisted. "We have met Mythal. We know this other wolf god of yours is free. At any rate, it is now clear Solas has been deceiving us for years, Inquisitor. If there is another explanation you're aware of, I'd welcome it. I did not want to order his arrest, but it was clear to me—as well as Leliana and Commander Cullen—that Solas has been using us to deal with these Qunari."

"And I'm glad he has," Ellana retorted. "Did you forget the Qunari planned to have us both killed in a gaatlok explosion? Solas saved your life and mine by exposing it."

"Yes," Cassandra admitted with a nod. "But it was obvious he only did so because he had run out of other options. He knew of this threat long ago but chose to hide it from us. He did not trust us, Inquisitor." Her brown eyes softened and her lips twisted in a tender frown. "He did not even trust _you._ "

The words stung Ellana, particularly because she couldn't deny their truth. Solas _had_ withheld so much from them—but she found she couldn't resent him for it. In his place, with so much at risk, she'd have hesitated too. She was doing just that now. The truth was, though she called Cassandra, Dorian, and her advisors her friends, she had no way of knowing how they would react to learning the truth about Solas. Rwevealing him seemed like too great a risk. Not to mention a terrible betrayal. 

Choosing to ignore Cassandra's point, Ellana said, "How long will you keep him in custody? What charges are you leveling against him? Suspected elven trickster god? What's the punishment for that particular crime, _most holy?"_

Cassandra scowled, her lips pinching into a hard line. "He is an apostate, Inquisitor. I need no other charges and I will hold him until I am convinced he is no threat to the Chantry, or to the Inquisition…or to you."

Ellana scoffed, rolling her eyes. "The only one posing a danger to me right now is you, Cassandra." The enormous, luxurious bedchambers Cassandra stayed in as Divine swirled around her and her stomach clenched. One hand to her head and the other to her stomach, she concentrated on not losing what little she'd eaten for breakfast.

"Inquisi—Ellana…" Cassandra said, her voice abruptly gentle with sympathy. Ellana heard her step forward and a moment later Cassandra's hand gripped her shoulder. "I am so—"

Ellana batted the other woman's hand away and withdrew several steps, backing toward the closed door of the Divine's bedchambers. "No, you don't get to ease your conscience apologizing for this, Cassandra." Whipping around to face the door, she paused with her hand on the knob, swallowing as she fought back vertigo and bile. "Will I be allowed to visit him?"

"Of course," Cassandra replied. "And no harm will come to him—assuming he causes no trouble."

Ellana gnashed her teeth together, her grip on the doorknob tightening. "And what will you do if you believe he is a threat?"

The silence in the room stretched, heavy and thick. Ellana heard the sound of her pulse whooshing in her ears with each beat. Sweat doused her body. Finally Cassandra said, "I do not know."

Glaring over her shoulder, Ellana saw Cassandra had lowered her gaze to the floor. The Divine's expression was tight and unhappy. "You don't know or you won't tell me?" Ellana asked, almost growling.

Cassandra looked to her and then away again, her jaw squaring. "I do not know," she repeated.

But Ellana couldn't stop the answers to her own question spinning through her mind. What did the Chantry and Templars do with _any_ mage deemed too dangerous even for a Circle? _He could be made Tranquil._ Her blood ran cold and her innards curdled with both horror and outrage. It seemed impossible that the humans could make an Evanuris Tranquil, but the mere idea...

Pivoting around again, glowering and shaking with rage, Ellana said, "Tell me they will not even consider the Rite of Tranquility. Promise me, Cassandra."

The Divine's expression pinched with pain. "I will never give such an order."

"But you'd sit back and let it happen, is that it?" Ellana asked, snarling.

Cassandra shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "No, Inquisitor. I will not allow it. But should Solas prove to be a threat I will have no option but to imprison him or order his execution. The Rite may soon look preferable to those options."

"I cannot believe you would do this," Ellana hissed, shaking her head. Her knees felt wobbly. "I thought you were my friend. I trusted you, Cassandra."

"I had no choice," Cassandra repeated, her voice and expression sad. "Solas' own actions brought us to this point, Inquisitor. If he _is_ some kind of elven version of Corypheus we are all in great danger. My advice to you is to—"

"I don't want your advice," Ellana cut in, slashing the air with her left hand. Oddly, she felt her fingers tingle, but the Anchor remained dormant.

Clamping her mouth shut, Cassandra's eyes dropped to the floor as she sighed. "Then we have nothing further to say to each other—but I did this for you as much as for our security. I will always be your friend, and part of that is knowing when another has lost her way. Your feelings for Solas have allowed you to be blind to his—"

"Yes," Ellana growled, jabbing a finger in Cassandra's direction. "My feelings have allowed me to accept Solas for who and what he really is, not who I wish him to be. While you and the others only see him as a nefarious knife-eared apostate. If he were human you would not care."

Cassandra frowned. "And what _is_ he exactly, Inquisitor?"

Flinching as she realized how close she'd come to revealing too much, Ellana turned and ripped open the door, calling over her shoulder as she stormed from the room: "My beloved."

_________________________________________

The Templars around Solas stood at attention, their bodies charged with lyrium. They repelled the Fade, making the waking world hard and unchangeable, smothering the mana in Solas' blood, skin, and spirit. Considering he'd been born a mage, like all Elvhen before the Veil, the disconcerting abilities of the Templars made his flesh crawl with revulsion.

He'd been in a windowless underground stone cell for about three hours now, guarded by four Templars. Two remained at the locked gate over his cell while the other two stayed inside the tiny space, staring off into space and ignoring him. After the first hour Solas had given up standing and waiting in favor of sitting on the chilled stone floor. Pulling his hood up to shield his scalp from the cold stone, he leaned back and tried to doze to pass the time—but the guards in his cell commanded him to stop.

"Am I not allowed rest?" Solas asked them, scowling.

"Not without a draught to suppress dreams," the right guard told him in a deep, grumbling voice.

Solas restrained a bitter snarl. There were herbs to block sleepers from accessing the Fade, but Solas never used them—for obvious reasons. But the unfortunate truth of having allies turn on you was that they knew the most about you. Cassandra and Leliana may not understand his abilities as a Dreamer and they couldn't begin to grasp the power he possessed as an Evanuris, but they did know the power of making him uncomfortable and just how to do it.

Obedient and passive, Solas then remained awake and used meditation to pass the time instead. Turning his thoughts inward, he refocused the mana in his core, steadying himself for a somewhat difficult fight if it became necessary. He made sure to murmur aloud to reassure his guards that he wasn't actually sleeping. The Templars likely felt his magical ministrations, even though they were internal and should have been invisible. It was the same way he sensed their ability to deny magic. They were foils of each other and despite Solas' earlier casualness with Ellana about the dangers Templars posed to himself, now he could not help but instinctually feel a chill of fear.

At long last, after over three hours, the guards at the door to his cell admitted another Templar with a slightly different suit of armor. The metal gleamed and clanked, heavy and authoritative. The man wore a helmet with the bristling feathers Solas had seen so much of in Red Templars during the fight with Corypheus. A commander of some sort.

"Elven apostate," the commander said, his tone formal and cold. "By order of Divine Victoria, you are to submit to questioning at the hands of myself and Lady Nightingale. Will you come peaceably?"

Solas gave a slight nod. "I will."

The commander motioned with one hand. "Bring him."

The two guards inside his cell strode forward to reach for him. Solas grimaced at their firm, frigid grips as the metal bit easily through his clothing. He twisted, tearing one arm free in a little motion. "I can walk of my own—"

One guard elbowed him across the face and Solas gasped, recoiling and holding his nose. He tasted blood and felt pain radiate from where his teeth had cut into his lip. Glaring at the guard and then the commander, he dabbed at the blood with his sleeve, biting back the surge of fury scalding him from within. "How very expected. Was that truly necessary?"

"The prisoner will not speak," the commander growled and then turned and walked out of the cell.

With his guards still holding him by the arms, Solas only half-walked from his cell as the guards also partly dragged him into the bleak gray hallway. Water dripped somewhere, leaking from a pipe or a crack in the palace's foundation. The air smelled musty and stagnant and there were only two torches flickering at opposite ends of the passageway for light. Solas focused on his mana core, like a man petting a beloved pet to find strength when facing turmoil. The strength of it provided comfort, reminding him that he could escape at any time, though he had no intention of doing so.

The guards escorted him up a set of stairs and to a dingy interrogation room with a crude wooden table and several chairs. Leliana stood in one corner, her blue eyes somber as she watched. The guards brought him to one end of the table and sat him in the chair, then stepped backward and took up positions behind Solas near the door. The Templar commander stomped in after them and Solas heard the metal door creak shut on rusty hinges.

"Was hitting him really necessary?" Leliana asked, irritation flashing in her gaze.

"He resisted," the commander grumbled.

"I did not," Solas said, wiping at his bleeding nose and sniffing. "I merely suggested that I'd prefer walking here as opposed to being dragged."

Leliana's glare aimed at the commander almost made Solas smile. The thuggish brutality of the Templars was already working in his favor.

"Solas was instrumental in closing the Breach," Leliana said, still glowering at the commander. "He is to be treated with respect at all times as long as he does not resist." She reached inside her pocket and fished out a handkerchief, moving to the table and extending it out to him. "Here."

Solas took the handkerchief but didn't thank her as he dabbed at his lip and nose. "I would prefer a healing spell, if I am allowed."

"You are not," the commander said. "Magic use is forbidden in apostate prisoners."

Solas gritted his teeth together and ignored him, focusing instead on Leliana. "Surely I have earned enough respect serving the Inquisition to afford me one healing spell?"

She sighed, closing her eyes. "I will allow it."

"Lady Nightingale, I must protest—"

"You owe him this," Leliana snapped, motioning at Solas. "For hitting him despite his cooperation. Divine Victoria's orders specifically stated he was to be well-treated."

"He's an _apostate,_ " the Templar commander snarled. "A powerful one."

"I understand that," Leliana retorted. "But he has never used his magic irresponsibly while in service to the Inquisition and he is not resisting us now. There is no reason a harmless healing spell should not be allowed, especially when that spell is to undo damage that should not have happened in the first place." She turned her gaze on Solas and nodded meaningfully. "Please, Solas. Go ahead."

At her permission he drew only the barest amount of mana from his core and murmured the quick incantation over himself. A moment later the pain in his nose and lips faded, leaving only an itchy tingling as the magic knit the small wounds together. Using the handkerchief again, Solas wiped at the residual blood on his face, cleaning it away.

"Solas," Leliana began then, her voice solemn and her gaze heavy with a sort of exhausted weariness. "You know why we have taken you into custody, I'm sure. We will hold you in custody until such time as we have learned the truth of your origins."

"Then I suspect you will hold me the remainder of my natural lifetime, spymaster," Solas said with a little shake of his head. "As I have told you everything noteworthy and that has not satisfied you. I cannot confess to be something I am not."

Leliana crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him stolidly. "If you are not a vessel of Fen'Harel, then how do you explain the sentinel elves following your leadership and calling you by that name?"

"Fen'Harel is a myth," Solas said, scowling. "There are no gods."

"And no Maker?" the commander asked, his tone promising punishment if Solas answered incorrectly. Leliana's gaze had gone cold as well.

"I made no such claims," Solas murmured. "I have no evidence for or against your Maker, but in my journeys in the Fade I have seen ancient memories and reflections like ripples from a stone cast long ago into a pool. In these dreams and memories I have seen glimpses of the true figures who inspired the elven gods and so I can say with confidence that they were merely mortal mages." He set the handkerchief onto the table, folding it neatly. "The sentinel elves did not consider Fen'Harel to be a true god or even a singular being in the way they do with Mythal. He is much like Shartan from the Chant—a rebellious figure. Dread Wolf is more a title to the sentinel elves. As the leader of a spy network myself, Abelas' elves insisted on calling me by that name on occasion as a sign of respect."

Leliana's lips curled in a coy smile that didn't touch her eyes. "How interesting. Yet I still find myself with more questions than answers. For instance, why are you and the sentinels in the Crossroads in the first place? What are your goals?"

Solas was sweating, fighting the instinct to fidget under her scrutiny. The knot of his lie was a tangled, unstable thing and the more questions Leliana asked the more likely it'd unravel and give way. When he ran out of things that hedged on the truth without going too far he'd have to start refusing to answer. Once that happened she'd know she had him trapped. And unfortunately she'd already come upon that point.

Forcing a smile, Solas said, "I would hardly be a very good spymaster myself if I divulged such secrets."

Leliana clasped her hands behind her back and lifted her chin in an authoritative stance. "And I would be remiss if I accepted such an answer when you have been operating within the Inquisition for years as though we might become enemies. Your spies are not merely within the winter palace. You have infiltrated our ranks as well, have you not?"

"A handful," Solas hedged. "And only after I began leaving Skyhold. I needed updates when I was not physically present. My desire was to ensure the Inquisitor remained safe."

"And you did not trust myself and Commander Cullen to adequately protect her?" Leliana asked, frowning with disapproval.

"Forgive me," Solas murmured, averting his gaze, feigning embarrassment. "I worried for her safety and preferred knowing I'd seen to it personally." That wasn't untrue, either, a fact that made his voice soft with tenderness when he spoke. "And had I not done so I would not have uncovered the Qunari spies within your ranks—which allowed me to save her life and Divine Victoria's."

The commander behind him shifted while he spoke and Solas resisted the desire to look at the man's face, but he suspected he'd see something like surprise. Chances were high that Leliana and Cassandra had ordered his arrest using the Templars but neglected to share much information with them. Ellana and her advisors had been covering up the Qunari plot on their lives, determined to clean up the mess before allowing anyone else to know of it. He kept the smirk from his lips with an effort, wondering if the Templar commander regretted his earlier cruelty, though he doubted it. Even with Cassandra's reforms the Templars were just brutish thugs who weren't encouraged to think, only to obey.

Leliana frowned briefly and then switched topics. "You've said this Dragon's Breath plot by the Qunari has them collecting magical artifacts. I seem to recall your near-obsession with one particular artifact two years ago—Corypheus' elven orb. Tell me, is that perhaps why your elven spy network and the sentinels are within the Crossroads? You're seeking another orb." Her brow furrowed, her expression dangerous. "For what purpose? I cannot believe you intend to tear open the sky as Corypheus did."

He stared at her, stunned that she'd made the connection. He also realized _this_ was why she and Cassandra had ordered his arrest so suddenly. They worried about him having access to the Qunari base and its artifacts.

Smothering his surprise, Solas feigned a small, enigmatic smile. "Such artifacts have always interested me, much in the way relics from the time of Andraste or the first Inquisition would fascinate you. However, my interest in them now has grown because my hope is to save the Inquisitor from the Anchor should it destabilize."

The spymaster was silent a moment, her eyes flicking over him, judging his answer. Slowly, her expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained wary and doubtful. "We will take that into consideration during our operations there."

"You are sending forces after the Qunari without me?" Solas asked, eyebrows rising with surprise and then furrowing with disapproval. "You are putting your people in danger, Leliana. Even I do not know what artifacts will be at the Qunari base. Some of them could cause explosions like the one at the conclave. If you will not allow me to guide your people than at least permit me to ask Abelas to accompany them. He can—"

"Our people will manage well enough," Leliana cut him off, smiling coyly. He realized she'd been reading his reaction and found something interesting—most likely damning.

Schooling his expression and maintaining composure despite the itch of impatience that crawled over his skin at this latest news, Solas nodded benignly. "Very well."

The thought of all those artifacts, most of them from Elvhenan, winding up in the Inquisition's hands made his stomach clench. His people would need the power and magic inside those artifacts in the inevitable wars to come as the People reclaimed their heritage as immortal mages. But the Qunari didn't possess the foci Zevanni had found in Tevinter, and that was the most important artifact for his plans currently.

He drew in a quick breath and asked, "What else would you know of me? I'd prefer to finish this and not to spend the night locked up here. Also, I have not had a meal since last night."

"You will be fed shortly," the Templar commander said, almost grunting the words.

"How reassuring," Solas murmured, still looking at Leliana. "Am I to be released shortly as well?"

"To a Circle, yes," the Templar commander growled.

Now Solas twisted in his seat, snarling at the commander. "Excuse me?" He faced Leliana again, feeling his cheeks flush with rage. "Is this true?"

The spymaster merely stared at him, her expression unreadable. Solas' stomach seemed to drop through the floor, his heart pounding and his body breaking out in cold sweat even as his hands clenched, shaking with fury. He would _not_ join a Circle. For them to even threaten him with it…

"I understand you've displayed some spells that even the Tevinter ambassador was unfamiliar with," the commander said, his voice dripping with revulsion. "The Val Royeaux Circle's First Enchanter has already agreed to come here personally to assess you. She'll be here tomorrow afternoon we expect."

"Is this true?" Solas asked, hissing. His lips curled back from his teeth as he glared at Leliana, shaking with rage. "After three years of loyal service to the Inquisition, this is my reward? To be enslaved inside one of your Circles?" Leliana met his stare but remained silent, her eyes searching over him and her body tense.

"The White Spire is hardly a prison," the commander said, snorting. "The mages live in pampered luxury, as good as any nobles. They'd certainly be able to get you better clothes than what you're wearing now."

"Yes," Solas spat without looking at the other man. "But even a gilded cage is still a cage and the mages are anything but free. The Chantry takes their children away and forbids them from seeing their families or taking lovers." He'd never be able to live freely with Ellana, never raise their child…

"I'm sure they'd make an exception for you," the commander said snidely.

"Yes, and I will still be a slave to your petty Andrastian fear of magic."

"Watch your tongue," the commander snarled.

"Or what?" Solas snapped, glowering over his shoulder at the Templar. "What more can you threaten me with? A lifetime of imprisonment here? What is the difference?"

"You could always be made Tranquil," the commander said, grinning.

Cursing in elven, Solas fought to breathe through his fury. His cheeks burned as if aflame. Gnashing his teeth and facing Leliana again, Solas placed his fists on the table, glaring at the spymaster. "I have nothing further to say to either of you." He could feel his core seething, ready to boil over with the power of his anger. "Please escort me to my cell."

Now at last Leliana arched an eyebrow. "You will not submit to the First Enchanter's assessment of your magical abilities?"

"Return me to my cell," Solas growled. _Before I petrify you all._ He stared Leliana down, waiting for her to flinch or reveal this had been a ruse to test the limits of his patience. Behind him the Templar commander shifted and Solas felt his skin prickle as the other man likely prepared for a fight. He could probably feel Solas' tumultuous magic right at his fingertips, ready to attack. What he didn't know was that the attack would happen without Solas even moving. There'd be no spoken spell, no wave of his hand or flick of his fingers. He'd brace for an attack when he felt Solas draw the mana but he'd never have a chance to deflect it before he turned into stone.

Leliana clucked her tongue then, smiling her small, coy smile. "Solas, there's no need for you to get so angry over this. I would never force the Inquisitor's Fade expert into a Circle. My only stipulation is that you allow the White Spire's First Enchanter to assess your magical talents and to collect a few drops of your blood in a phylactery. That will be enough to reassure the Templars you—"

"No," Solas spat, interrupting her. "I will not relinquish my blood to anyone." He thumped his fists on the table. "We are finished here."

"Insufferable, stubborn knife-ear," the commander grumbled behind Solas.

"Call me that again and I will kill you," Solas growled only to wince. His temper _definitely_ got the better of him.

"Try it," the commander taunted sarcastically and then grunted. "Knife-ear."

"Enough," Leliana intervened, raising her voice. "Commander, please escort the prisoner back to his cell—and do not make him bleed this time." Her blue eyes pinned Solas. "We will continue this discussion after you have had a meal and had some time to contemplate my offer. We will not force you into a Circle should you agree to certain concessions—including the phylactery. But we will discuss those later." She motioned toward the commander. "Take him."

Solas rose to his feet and pivoted to glare at the commander before the other man could reach him. The Templar stiffened, ready to fight, but Solas strode past him for the door at a brisk but steady pace. Additional guards had gathered outside the interrogation room and several had drawn their swords and had their shields raised. Solas let them surround him, hoping they'd touch him or manhandle him along the way and make him lose his temper again—if only because he could be done with this charade. His patience had grown as thin as the Veil around the Breach in Haven. At any misstep by his guards he'd crack like an egg and wind up petrifying the lot of them.

At his cell he strode immediately to the far wall and watched with his heart pounding as the guards locked the gate. Two guards stood inside his cell with him, still watching him to make sure he didn't sleep. Glaring at them as he called out to the hallway, Solas said, "I request I be allowed to speak with Inquisitor Lavellan."

"Shut up," a guard growled from outside.

If they refused to release him without forcing him to provide blood for a phylactery, which would allow him to be tracked by Templars, Solas would have no choice but to show his hand and escape. To keep himself calm he returned to meditation, but his mind refused to empty and his fingers kept twitching, imagining the spells he would cast. The Templars' presence still made his skin prickle as they deadened the power of magic within their vicinity, but Solas knew it'd take an army of them to dampen _his_ magic. He had only to wait a little longer to be sure…

______________________________________

Author note: So now things are definitely falling apart for Solas and Ellana. I typically think of this story having something like four arcs. We are now exiting the Exalted Council summit plot arc and entering...what comes next.


	14. Na Nadas Him Revas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas breaks out of jail. With Ellana possibly implicated in his escape, she must flee with him through the eluvian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author notes:  
> I use several elven phrases in this chapter that I wrangled out of the official DA Elven Language wiki, rather than the FenxShiral Project Elvhen because I hadn't explored it at the time of writing this. I did begin using it later, but I'll start giving FenxShiral credit now in advance. In case anyone's wondering, "Na Nadas Him Revas" as best as I can tell means "You must be(come) free."

"The Inquisition had no right to banish the Wardens from Orlais," the Orlesian ambassador said, his nasally voice grating against Ellana's ears. "The order provides an invaluable service during times of Blight. Without the Wardens Orlais and all of Thedas are in danger."

Josephine cast Ellana a sidelong look, no doubt checking to see if she wanted to reply. Subtly, Ellana moved her head and flicked a finger, indicating Josephine should speak. The hot afternoon and her anxious thoughts about Solas had left Ellana fighting a losing battle with her touchy stomach. She kept her other hand over her queasy belly, as if she could comfort herself with the touch. Josephine had been keeping a worried, watchful eye on her and encouraging her to drink the tea they'd supplied. It wasn't working, to the point that even the ginger tea had been refusing to play nicely.

Seeing Cassandra in her ridiculous Divine robes wasn't helping, either. At least the other woman seemed unable to meet her stare for more than an instant.

"We understand the danger," Josephine answered. "But as there is no sign of Blight at this time it was clear the Wardens presented a far greater threat as pawns of Corypheus."

"But Corypheus has been dead two years," Arl Teagan snapped, his weasel-like face contorting with derision. "The Wardens must be recalled at once."

And suddenly bile was in Ellana's throat. She shot upright, her chair squawking as it scraped the floor of the pavilion. With her hand clasped over her mouth, Ellana bolted for the short stairs leading to the enclosed gardens around the pavilion. The small crowd of nobility and visitors seated behind the panel where Ellana and Josephine sat for the summit gasped and broke out in whispers.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arl Teagan demanded.

Ellana reached the end of the stairs and bent over, retching at the base of a decorative bush. Heaving several times and spitting stomach acids and bile, she finally groaned with relief as the nausea abated for the moment. Now she needed some mint and water to rinse the putrid taste from her mouth. That thought reminded her immediately that Solas wouldn't be waiting for her in her bedchambers tonight. Her chest tightened, aching with worry and fear.

"I must apologize," Josephine said, sounding flustered. "The Inquisitor has been unwell."

"I am concerned for the Inquisitor's health," Cassandra said. "I suggest we adjourn for the rest of the day to give her time to recover."

 _Creators take you, Cassandra,_ Ellana thought and scowled, remembering there were no Creators. She spat again into the bush. Then, wiping at her mouth, she squared her shoulders and marched up the short stairs into the pavilion again. The nobles and others in the small audience gawked. Masked ladies in their finery cringed from her and whispered to husbands or friends behind fluttering fans. Their hissed words were all variations of the same rumor and Ellana's ears were too sharp to miss it.

"…with child, for sure."

At the panel she offered the ambassadors and Cassandra a little bow. "Please excuse me. I'm afraid I'm unable to continue at this time."

"Perhaps we should resume the Exalted Council in about nine months?" Arl Teagan asked, sneering.

Josephine was watching her, brown eyes pleading: _Deflect, distraction, and humor!_

"I hardly think it will take me that long to wash the taste of vomit from my mouth, ambassador. We can resume tomorrow," she said, turning on her heel and striding for the exit. Though she kept her head up and shoulders back, Ellana knew by the smirking looks the audience sent her way that she wasn't fooling anyone.

Outside the pavilion she found an elven Inquisition scout and ordered him to bring her to the winter palace's cellblock to see Solas. He nodded obediently and as Ellana took in the shape of his face—elongated and with particularly narrow, pronounced ears—she wondered if this was one of Solas' spies. She followed the scout through the palace's narrow corridors and grand halls until they left the gilded sections behind and passed into passageways that were tighter and made of gray stone. Eventually they reached a set of broad double doors made of rough-hewn wood. Two human guards stood watch, their armor and masks declaring them Orlesian.

"Inquisitor Lavellan wishes entrance," the scout announced her.

The men nodded and one of them unlatched the doors, letting Ellana and the scout through. _At least the Orlesians still respect my authority,_ Ellana thought to herself. She rooted through her formalwear to find the pouch of mint and ginger Solas had given her a few days ago. She popped a mint leaf into her mouth and chewed to try and get rid of the vile taste of vomit.

They passed through another dank, poorly lit passageway and descended a stairwell to a lower level, guarded this time by Templars. These guards glared at her but didn't stop them. At the bottom of the stairs another Templar, a woman this time, did step into their path. "Halt," she commanded, her armor clanking. "State your business."

"Inquisitor Lavellan wishes to see her Fade expert," the scout answered for her. Ellana didn't miss the hint of anger in the man's voice.

The Templar woman nodded, her eyes flying from the scout to Ellana. "If you'll follow me, your worship." She motioned at the scout. "You stay here."

"Yes," the scout said, nodding and obedient though Ellana saw his lips quirk downward with displeasure. _Definitely one of Solas' spies,_ she thought.

The Templar escorted her deeper into the cellblock. The air took on a faintly moldy smell and Ellana cringed at it, grimacing as her stomach churned again with nausea. Soon the guard brought her to a cell with an iron-wrought gate over the narrow door. Two Templars stood watch on either side of the entrance. Pretending to have no interest in her as she moved close to the bars.

"Solas?" she called, squinting and unable to see him. The cell had a narrow entrance, with a dogleg just an arm's length beyond the gate, meaning the opposite corner and much of the far wall were obscured. It was likely an isolation tactic as well as a way to make escape more difficult. With the dogleg and the narrow entrance the Templars could quickly block the entrance with their bodies, preventing escape.

She heard rustling from inside the cell and then the clank of metallic armor. She frowned as she saw another Templar guard inside the cell move into the entrance, blocking it. "You may speak to the prisoner, but he is not allowed to move to the bars."

Ellana's jaw fell open a moment and then her hands clenched into fists. She gripped the bars and cursed at the guard, "Get out of the way! How _dare_ you…"

"Vhenan," Solas' voice came from just around the corner, out of sight. "Please, you must not worry yourself needlessly. I am well."

The sound of his smooth voice, heavy with what sounded like sadness, threatened to break her. She made a little choking sound, involuntarily inhaling as the mixture of anxiety and rage strangled her with burning hands. Her eyes stung with tears but she fought them back. "Are you soon to be released?"

He chuckled, humorless and somber. "No. Leliana has told me I must submit blood to a phylactery, so that these Templars may be able to chase me to the ends of Thedas if they wish. I will never agree to such a blatant restriction on my freedom."

Ellana's hands on the bars tightened until she could feel her tendons stretching to the point of pain. She snarled at the Templar in the entryway, baring her teeth and gritting them. "Shem bastards," she growled.

"Leliana may yet see reason," Solas told her, but she couldn't miss the doubt in his tone. "But they have already threatened to coerce me into a Circle, or suggested the Rite of Tranquility." Now she heard the anger deepening his voice and felt her own fury ignite at it.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead against the cold iron bars. "Na nadas him revas." _You must be free._

The guard grumbled, "Speak in Common."

Ellana ignored the guard's warning, her body shaking with the force of her conviction, her mind spinning. He'd told her he could escape at any time, that he had no fear of being forced into a Circle…but her chest ached and it was hard to breathe imagining him enduring here for days, weeks, or months. If he would not expose his power then she would have to take action.

"Vhenan," he replied, his voice sounding strangled. There was a soft rustling sound and footsteps over the stone and then he appeared behind the Templar, his eyes dark and glinting in the dimness. "Venavis." _Stop._

Another Templar from inside the cell—they had _two_ guards on him in there, Ellana realized—growled, "Are you two deaf? Common only."

"Ar nadas lasa mala revas," Ellana said, raising her voice with defiance. _I must give you your freedom._

The Templar to Ellana's left shifted and slapped the iron bars with his armored hand right beside her head, making the gate rattle and clatter. She gasped, startled and jumping before glaring at him. The Templar said, "Last warning. No elven nonsense."

"Patience," Solas said to her, the soothing velvet of his voice making her throat tighten and her chest ache with love. His expression was twisted, lips parted and eyes narrowed with emotion. "Visit me again tonight before you sleep." He paused, lips pinching into a hard line. "They will not allow me to dream."

"Fenedhis," she cursed, glaring at the Templar.

"Dareth'shiral, vhenan," Solas murmured, smiling sadly.

She licked her lips, about to tell him she loved him, when the Templar inside the cell with Solas lashed out, knocking the elven mage backward into the wall. "You were warned, you knife-eared bastard."

"Solas," Ellana shouted, shaking the bars of his cell. She could just see Solas' face, his lips curled in a snarl of rage as the Templar moved to stand in the doorway, his back to his companion as yet another barrier between their prisoner and Ellana. "Damn you—he was just saying goodbye!"

"We warned you," the guard to her left snarled. "No elven rubbish." He reached for her, his armored hands rough and bruising. Ellana fought, letting out a cry and twisting. Defiant with fury, she spat, "Ar u na'lin emma assan, shemlen." _I will see your blood on my arrow._

The Templar was stronger than her, easily twisting her arm. Pain streaked through her as he pivoted her away from the cell, intent on dragging her from it. Ellana gnashed her teeth together and let out a strangled cry, still trying to fight even as the world spun with vertigo. "Stop resisting," the Templar behind her ordered.

And then the world seemed to explode as all of her senses came alive so fast she couldn't process it all. From the cell behind her came the popping _thump_ of a Veilstrike and the clatter of Templar armor smashing into the stone. Then another noise cut through the air, making the iron gate rattle. Ellana's skin prickled, waves of heat radiating through her. Her left hand burned with the sudden cutting pain of the Anchor flaring to life and she hissed through her teeth at it.

The guards both started to shout, their footsteps pounding on the stone, but Ellana couldn't process the words before another wave of dizziness made her stumble and collapse. Pins and needles raced over her flesh and her stomach clenched. A crackling sound echoed through the corridor—and then heavy silence fell.

Blinking and cradling her glowing left hand, Ellana twisted her neck to look behind her and gasped. The Templar who'd grabbed her had been petrified in mid-motion, his shield raised as he'd turned to face the cell. The other Templar guard, also a statue now, stood in front of the cell, his sword and shield both raised.

Breathing hard and shallow with shock, Ellana rose to her feet and stumbled backward, eyes wide. Distantly she heard voices calling, footsteps thumping on stone. "Solas?" she called, her voice trembling.

A light tread crunched on the floor and a heartbeat later her lover emerged with a look that was both furious and despairing at once. "Vhenan," he said. "Ir abelas. I…lost my temper when he hurt you." His gaze flew to her hand and the anger fled, his brow furrowing with misery. "The Anchor reacted."

"How did you—what did you…" She broke off, shaking her head and groaning. "You were utterly serious when you said there was no Circle that could hold you." She stared at the Templars turned to statues, the iron cell door that'd been blasted from its hinges. She felt her knees go weak.

"We have no time for explanations," Solas said, his face warping with tension. "We must be gone. They're coming."

She was lightheaded, her hand fiery with pain from the Anchor. Glancing down the hallway, she saw the shadows of the approaching Templars. "There's only one way—"

Solas lunged for her, wrapping his arms around her. Ellana yelped with surprise and had a moment to see five Templars and the Inquisition scout who'd escorted her here round the corner. Then the world went black and her skin came alive again, pulses of prickling heat tearing through her. It was both pleasure and pain, making her cry out. Her body seemed to suddenly be weightless, floating—and then falling.

Light exploded in her eyes a second later as a mist made of pinpricks of purple light vanished with a hiss. Her knees gave out and she gagged, falling forward—but strong arms held her around the waist and shoulders, propping her upright. She coughed, trying to catch her breath and blinking moisture from her eyes as the world gradually made sense again.

She was in a brightly lit bedchamber— _her_ bedchambers inside the palace. "How…?"

"I'm sorry," Solas murmured into her ear. "My actions have condemned us both. We must flee through the eluvian."

Her knees shook again as she tried to place her full weight on them. Solas' arms kept her from falling, his breath warm on her neck and hair. Clinging to him, she shook, cold with shock. "I think I might retch."

"Breathe deeply," he instructed her, his voice soft with tenderness. "Empty your mind. Focus on reality and on my voice."

Sucking in a breath, Ellana stared at the bedspread and the nightstand where a pitcher of water and a washbasin waited. Thinking of the water gave her strength with the distraction. "I need a drink."

"I doubt alcohol will help, vhenan."

"Of water," she clarified, her voice hoarse.

"Of course," he said, nuzzling her ear and then half-guiding, half-carrying her to the bed. He eased her onto it and poured water from the pitcher into a small cup and handed it to her. She accepted it without meeting his gaze, but her hand shook so badly the water sloshed out. Solas took the water back from her and brought the cup to her lips like a mother tending a child. She closed her eyes as she sipped, letting the cool, crisp taste ground her.

 _"Ir abelas,"_ he apologized again, whispering. "This is my fault. I did not think. My reaction was excessive and you're suffering for my foolishness."

When he removed the cup from her lips, Ellana sighed, some of the tension easing as the pins and needles sensation faded. The water had calmed her in mind and body, letting a bit of her strength return. She flexed her left hand, feeling the pain of the Anchor diminishing though it continued glowing. "What happened?"

Solas' eyes were somber, his expression heavy with something akin to shame. "Your body cannot conduct magic with the Veil in place, but like all of the People you remain sensitive to it. I cast more magic in that hallway than what we used to close the Breach at Haven." He smiled, small and sheepish. "I…overreacted, to my shame."

"They were no match at all," she murmured, searching his face and shivering with a mixture of awe and horror. _One of the Evanuris._ He'd told her that of course, but hearing it and seeing it on display were entirely different things. Her stomach clenched thinking about it and she groaned.

Solas returned the cup to the nightstand and knelt in front of the bed, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "We cannot linger here. We must leave—and there may be more fighting." He swallowed audibly, his expression grave and sad. "I will try to shield you, but we cannot delay. Can you walk?"

Clenching her jaw, Ellana nodded even though she wasn't sure she was being truthful. Her limbs felt heavy and shaky. "I'll try."

Solas nodded. "I will gather our things." He sprang into action, hurrying around the room and grabbing his pack and her armor. "Dress, quickly," he told her as he passed the Dalish scout armor to her. "They will have already begun searching and by now I suspect there is no doubt as to my identity."

Rising onto her shaking legs, Ellana began to shed her formalwear. "I can't leave the summit," she murmured, dazed. "I'm Inquisitor. How will—"

"They will no longer care about your rank, vhenan. They will assume you had a part in my escape. I left no witnesses in my foolishness who might defend you."

"The Inquisition scout who led me to you," Ellana said, swaying as she stepped out of her formalwear boots. "He was elven. I think he was one of your spies."

"What did he look like?" Solas asked. He had not paused in his flurry of activity, moving from dressers to the bed to the privy, grabbing food from a tray the servants had brought in for lunch.

"Long face, narrow ears, blue-green eyes and blond hair," she answered as she shimmied into her chainmail. "No vallaslin."

"Var," Solas said, pausing where he'd placed his pack to look at her and nod. "And yes, he is one of mine." He cinched the pack closed and slung it over his shoulders, then crossed the room to collect their weapons.

Ellana secured her chainmail in place and slipped into the armored surcoat. She fastened the belts as fast as she could, stopping only when Solas approached with her bow and her arrow quiver. She eyed his staff as she took her own weapons. "You don't need a staff," she murmured. It wasn't a question.

"Most mages do not require one for simpler spells," he told her, smiling slightly. "In Elvhenan most did not bother with them." His blue eyes swept over her, tender with worry. "Are you ready?"

She slung her bow and the quiver over her shoulder and took a deep, shuddering breath. "As ready as I can be."

His gaze dropped to her left hand, still faintly glowing green. He frowned and muttered a curse under his breath. "Fenedhis. I did not think." He covered his face with one hand. "Now I have left us no choice but to risk exposing you to further Elvhen magic through the eluvians."

"It will be fine," Ellana said, her voice firm even as her chest constricted, cold with trepidation. "But we must hurry before they find us."

"Yes," he agreed, a muscle in his jaw feathering as his expression hardened with determination. "Stay close."

They left the bedchamber and trotted through the guest wing hallway. Servants gawked, sidestepping and yelping as they struggled not to drop the trays of food or used dishware they carried. The Inquisition and Orlesian guards stared with confusion and mild alarm etched on their faces as Solas led the way through the door. Ellana made an effort to nod at them and feign a smile as she followed. This relaxed both sets of guards.

They made their way without resistance through the gilded corridors and past numerous guards and Inquisition scouts. But Ellana didn't miss the way the human scouts cast suspicious or confused frowns at them while the elves merely nodded in acknowledgement. How many spies had Solas had in the Inquisition's ranks anyway?

When they reached the hall where the storage room with the eluvian waited Solas slowed and raised a hand for her to stop. Heart pounding and muscles still quivering from the recent shock and exertion, Ellana panted. She drew out her bow, anticipating trouble. "What is it?"

"Do you hear them?" he asked, arching a brow.

Ellana strained her ears and immediately heard the voices and tread of men ahead. Her chest tightened, making it harder to breathe. "Oh no."

"Stay behind me and I will get us through."

"Don't kill them," Ellana blurted, gripping his bicep. "Please." The accents she heard sounded Ferelden as well as Orlesian, which likely meant some of them were Inquisition.

Solas nodded to her, his gaze somber. As she released him, Solas' shoulders bunched and he darted around the corner in the blue-white blur of a Fade-step. Ellana rushed after him, grabbing an arrow and nocking it as she rounded the corner. Ahead in the hallway a group of six guards—two Orlesians masked and armored and four Inquisition soldiers—turned to regard them with wide eyes. They raised their weapons, shouting, but Solas gestured and the slick pop-bang of a Veilstrike strike echoed through the hallway.

Ellana flinched at the sound but felt none of the force hit her, though her left hand seized with a spurt of pain. She ignored it, keeping her left hand still tightly clasped to her bow. She ran forward as she saw the soldiers and guards collapse in a unanimous thump. They gasped and cried out, shocked and stunned.

 _I'm sorry,_ Ellana thought at them as she darted through them, picking each step carefully to avoid stepping on any of them.

Solas flung open the door to the storage room and ushered her through it. The eluvian thrummed, glowing blue. Ellana ran straight into it without hesitation and felt the chilled, ancient magic wash over her.

_____________________________________

Solas saw the mirror ripple as Ellana passed through it. Behind him the guards and soldiers clambered to their feet, scrambling for their weapons and shields. Solas backed toward the eluvian, his lip curled in a snarl as he took in the six humans. Doubtless Leliana had reacted to his jailbreak by sending humans to the storage room, anticipating this was where he'd go. But would they follow him into the Crossroads?

He could switch the eluvian off after passing through it, but Leliana had told him there were Inquisition forces raiding the Qunari base. Deactivating the eluvian would leave those people stranded in the Crossroads with no way to return to Halamshiral. He had another option—casting a barrier of spirit flames. That would deter anyone from the palace following he and Ellana, but someone emerging from the Crossroads would step out into the fire and perish. Both options posed risks but Solas could mitigate them from the Crossroads.

"Do not try to follow us," he shouted at them and then sprang through the mirror after Ellana.

On the other side, as the chill of the eluvian's magic passed over him and dissipated, Solas whipped back to the mirror and thrust his palm up to it. His own magic flowed warm and comforting through his blood and the mirror thrummed in response and fell dark. The song of the Crossroads filled his ears, competing with the pounding of his heart. He surveyed the Halamshiral island, smiling as he saw Ellana standing in the shadow of the rocky overhang, her arms wrapped over herself.

"Are you well?" he asked her, stepping closer.

"A little overwhelmed," she admitted and let out a dry laugh. Her green eyes skipped over him and then landed on the mirror, now dark. "You deactivated it?"

He nodded. "I could not risk us being followed."

"But Leliana told me this morning she sent Dorian and a small contingent of mages and soldiers to the Qunari base." Ellana looked around, squinting against the unnatural light, which always looked like a late afternoon sunset, but fractured into pinks and greens. "Where is the eluvian leading to the Qunari base?"

It just had to be Dorian trapped on this other side of the eluvian. Solas let out a little huff of irritation before motioning to the small spit of rock that led to another mirror opposite the Halamshiral mirror. The eluvian there was bright, clearly active.

"I believe the Qunari set this eluvian here deliberately for faster travel. Once the gaatlok barrels exploded at the height of the Exalted Council they could then move their troops in through the mirrors, straight from their base." He paused, allowing himself to smirk. "I will alter the mirror's destination once I know the Qunari base has been eliminated."

She shook her head, her arms still wrapped around her torso, as if cold. "Should we go after Dorian and the others at the base?"

"No," he replied immediately with a frown. "The Anchor has been exposed to enough magic for one day. I will not risk endangering you further."

"But they'll be stranded here," she said, brow furrowing.

"Then it is a simple matter of waiting for them to return from the base," Solas said, smiling to reassure her. This was the best solution to the problem that he could conceive of on multiple levels. Dorian and the Inquisition forces with him would naturally be upset to find the eluvian to Halamshiral inactive and Solas waiting for them like a spider in a web, but they had little choice at this point. He could reactivate the eluvian and send them through, then shut it off again. Better still, Solas could reclaim any interesting magical artifacts they carried with them…except that their close proximity could prove dangerous to Ellana.

"You'll reactivate the eluvian and let them through?" she asked, filling in the blanks for herself as he'd known she would.

"Yes, of course. I have no desire to see them trapped and we are reasonably safe here—assuming no Qunari emerge through the eluvian." He walked closer to her, his feet crunching over the grit on the black stone of the island, and gestured to an alcove tucked away to the left of the mirror. There was a skeleton and some decayed detritus from what might have been a backpack or other supplies. He didn't miss Ellana's brief look of disgust.

"Sadly the Crossroads are not what they once were," he murmured, smiling wanly. He stared out at the rest of the island, at the rough-hewn rock and the waterfall spilling from Andrastian statues with a splatter into the void. "It was once a place of great beauty. I wish you could have seen it as it once was."

Ellana leaned against the rock and then gradually slid down it, landing with a plop. She sighed, her head hanging and shoulders slouching. "I never had a chance to eat lunch."

"Then you are in luck, vhenan. I anticipated something like this." Solas shrugged out of his pack and strode to sit next to her. Opening the pack, he pulled out a pale silk handkerchief containing several cubes of cheese and passed it to her.

An almost shy smile curled her lips as she accepted the cheese. "Aren't you hungry?"

He shook his head. "I was fed by my jailers." To avoid meeting her eyes and hearing the unsaid words hanging between them—that he'd killed those aforementioned jailers—Solas rooted through his pack and pulled out another swatch of silk. Unwrapping it revealed a neat loaf of white bread. He set it on the silk square on the rock in front of them for her to grab at her leisure.

"Is the water here safe to drink?" she asked, staring at the waterfall.

Solas followed her gaze and nodded. "Yes. It is summoned by magic, drawn directly from the Fade itself."

At her sidelong look Solas cocked his head. 

She smiled slightly, her eyes dark with turmoil. "I'm wondering what will happen without me. What Leliana and Cullen and Cassandra and everyone will say." She let out a shuddering breath as tears filled her eyes.

Pain laced through Solas and he winced, reminded that her exile here with him had not been as voluntary as it was necessary. Now that he had revealed his own hand by foolishly losing his temper with the Templars and killing them in such a bizarre way, Ellana would not be considered innocent. She would no longer be the Inquisitor, but would be a pawn to be used against him. If Solas had left her behind Ellana would quickly find herself trapped in a cell while Inquisition forces tried to track him down using her as bait.

 _"Ir abelas,"_ he whispered again, eyes closing with shame. Heat licked at his cheeks. "You deserve better than to be caught up in this mess. The fault is mine."

"It's all right," she murmured, her smile soft and tender now. "I was ready to march on that cell myself and break you out, remember?"

He _did_ remember. The sound of her voice speaking elven had been like a caress, a balm for a burn. But he hadn't wanted to cause this difficulty for her. He'd learned through long experience that subtlety was always the most rewarding way to achieve one's goals. Leading from the shadows, manipulating from the background, had always been his specialty.

Chuckling under his breath, he reached over and caressed her cheek. _"Ar lath ma, vhenan."_

 _"Ar lath ma,"_ she agreed, clasping his hand with her own. " _Bellanaris."_ She scooted closer and Solas wrapped an arm around her shoulders, letting her lean against him.

They spent several minutes in companionable silence, the song of the waterfall and the endless groan of the Crossroads filling their ears. Ellana popped cheese cubes in her mouth and ate hunks of bread for a time and then sighed, getting to her feet and walking to cup her hands beneath the waterfall for a drink. Solas watched her graceful shape, admiring the curve of her legs and hips in her armor and wondering how much magic she would have when the Veil came down…

And their child, how much of his power would it inherit?

As she made her way back to him, her bare feet gripping the black stone rock with each step, Solas cleared his throat and said, "I could never tell you before, vhenan, but you sometimes remind me of Ghilan'nain."

Ellana halted, staring at him with a bemused expression. "What do you mean?"

He chuckled. "I mean that Ghilan'nain was a graceful hunter who preferred a bow, like you. She was clever and cunning and beautiful."

"Wasn't she a mage?" Ellana asked, frowning with confusion.

"Of course," Solas answered with a nod. "Magic can aid with the use of a bow, or a blade as well. This world has forgotten the wonders and limitless uses of magic." He paused, sighing as he remembered. "Ghilan'nain should have been like Mythal, but she did not have the strength of character to stand against any of the others. She was as gentle as the halla who now represent her to your people. In that respect you are a far stronger, wiser leader."

Ellana flashed a crooked smile at him, her green eyes mischievous. "Solas, if I didn't know better I'd say it sounds like you admired her."

He scowled, old irritation lashing him at the memory of the other Evanuris. "I despised them for claiming godhood, but they were each individuals. Some were worse than others. Ghilan'nain was younger even than I, but Andruil discovered her before Mythal found me. Ghilan'nain was Andruil's closest companion." He chuckled, the sound dry. "And her lover."

Crossing to sit at his side again, Ellana snuggled into him and sighed. Solas wound his arm around her again, stroking her shoulder and arm.

"So," she said, her voice quiet. "Tell me a true story of Elvhenan. Are there any stories my people got right?"

He sighed, resting his head against the cool, black rock behind him. What could he tell her that wasn't upsetting? Even in trying to compliment her by comparing her grace and beauty to Ghilan'nain he'd found himself reminded of the so-called goddess' faults. She'd been vain and insecure, easily cowed by the likes of Andruil and Elgar'nan.

"What would you like to know?" he asked, hoping she'd narrow the subject somewhat.

"Are any of the tales of Fen'Harel accurate at all?" she asked, a playful note in her voice. "I seem to recall one where Andruil caught the Dread Wolf hunting halla and tied him to a tree."

"Ah," he murmured and chuckled. "Yes. That one is true."

"Andruil caught you?" Ellana asked. "Was she more powerful than you?"

Solas frowned to himself. "Merely better trained at the time. I was quite young. I was in the wilds, seeking out the Forgotten Ones."

"The Forgotten Ones," she breathed and shivered. "Were they demons like the Chantry's Forbidden Ones? Like Imshael?"

"More powerful, vhenan," he answered. "Forgive me, I'd prefer not to discuss them now."

She made a motion against his chest, a sort of acknowledging nod, and returned to their previous subject. "So, Andruil caught you believing you were hunting halla?"

"I _was_ hunting them," he answered, smiling. "I hadn't eaten meat in days and I'd been living luxuriously in Arlathan's court for a few years by then. I was _very_ hungry. And yes, before you ask about it, Andruil did indeed devise a rather…unorthodox punishment for my transgressions."

"A year and a day of servitude in her bed?" Ellana asked, and laughed. "That seems quite tame considering other tales of Andruil I've heard."

Solas didn't answer for a few moments, considering the nuances Ellana couldn't possibly know and whether he should reveal them. Andruil had little interest in men, generally preferring female lovers. But at the time he'd been introduced to the court Andruil and Ghilan'nain had been trying for decades to convince one of the other Evanuris men to father a child on one of them in the hope that they could produce a child of equal strength to themselves.

Even the Evanuris could not escape the rigid classism of Elvhenan, based as it was on magical talent. Elgar'nan and Mythal had had many children, but only one ever matched their power—Dirthamen. The other children were all nobles but could never claim the mantle of godhood and their names fell away into obscurity. It didn't help either that Elgar'nan paid his less-talented children no attention at all and discouraged Mythal from associating with them as well.

Even as a newcomer to court, Solas understood Andruil and Ghilan'nain's designs on him and had no intention of giving either what they wanted. So Andruil's punishment for his supposed crime had all been a poorly laid out ruse.

He decided not to divulge this underlying complication and instead caressed Ellana's neck, feeling her shiver at his touch. "Andruil knew I did not care for her and that I opposed slavery. Her punishment was more appropriately cruel than you realize."

"I had cousins who used to like that story because they wished they were tied to that tree. Except they would not have tricked their way out of the punishment." She was silent a moment but when she spoke again her voice held the darkness of doubt in it. "Solas, if you bring down the Veil, won't you set the Evanuris free again?"

Solas let out a small breath, his fingers stilling on her smooth skin. _Always clever, vhenan._ "Yes."

She sat up, looking him in the eye, her gaze narrowing with concentration. "I don't understand. You want to set them free?"

Raising his head from the reclined position against the rock, Solas frowned. "No. They are…not as they once were. And even if they were unchanged, they would not rest until they had revenged themselves upon me. I do not wish to restore a world that will revert back to Elvhenan and its class system, corrupted by slavery and suffering. I tried to change Elvhenan from within as one of them for centuries, but the others undermined me. The slaves I freed they'd reclaim as their own. Nobles serving the other Evanuris would encroach onto my lands, their warriors burned my people's crops and—"

"You had lands? You had people?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "Officially?"

He stared at her, blinking as he realized she still knew so little of his past life in Elvhenan. Slowly, he nodded. "I was given Falon'Din's lands and people after he was bound for causing a civil war." He scowled. "The arrogant, bloodthirsty fool."

She licked her lips and started to say, "You mentioned something about that when we were in the Temple of Mythal. What—"

They both froze, eyes widening as they heard an eluvian thrumming. Ellana scrambled to her feet and jogged toward the spit of rock leading to the Qunari base mirror. Solas lingered behind a moment, collecting and wrapping the food, replacing it in his pack. Then, grabbing his staff, he moved after Ellana. Already he heard voices and the tramp of feet over the black stone.

And then Dorian's voice rang out, " _Vishante kaffas,_ Ellana! What are you doing here, darling?"

Solas bristled at the nickname and emerged from the shadow of the island's rocky overhang. Dorian's gaze immediately flew to him and his lips drew back in a vicious snarl. "Shouldn't _you_ be in a cell?" His brown eyes took in the dark Halamshiral mirror then and his mouth fell open a second before his glare swung back to Solas, accusatory and enraged. "What is the meaning of this, you _filth?!"_

______________________________________

**Next Chapter**

Dorian's expression turned somber, his lips pinching and his brow furrowing. "Ellana, if you're feeling trapped because you don't want your child to be fatherless…" His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders. "I could take you in. I've weathered worse scandals and I doubt anyone would believe it could be my child anyway, even if it is a mage those _ears_ will just—"

Ellana burst out laughing, shaking her head. "That's very sweet of you, Dorian, but Solas would probably leap into the void before he'd let you take me to Tevinter."

________

Author note: Regarding the next chapter's teaser, I've actually read one very long, very detailed story about a Lavellan who does go to Tevinter with Dorian, actually marrying him. They have no children, but because she's a mage and a celebrity, she's granted Magister status. She and Dorian live in (non-sexual) wedded-bliss. I actually deeply enjoyed the narrative and closeness between the two. I wrote the teaser long before I read that other story, but I have to admit, I still love the idea and have definitely toyed with doing it myself. Dorian is just...I love him!


	15. A True Story of Fen'Harel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas tells Ellana a sad story from his life pre-Veil. Ellana says goodbye to Dorian and the Inquisition, joining Solas' forces.

Inquisition mages and soldiers continued appearing through the mirror, making it pulsate and thrum each time. Soon nearly ten people had gathered on the narrow spit of rock, forcing Dorian to edge forward though he seemed unwilling to join Solas and Ellana on the Halamshiral island, as if the stone they stood on might burn him. Among the Inquisition forces emerging through the eluvian Ellana also saw Varric and Iron Bull. The dwarf and the tal-vashoth warrior both stared at Ellana and Solas with baffled expressions.

"I will reopen the eluvian to allow you through," Solas told Dorian and the others, his posture stiffening and his hands tucked behind his back. "But I will require any magical artifacts you collected from the Qunari base before I allow you passage."

Dorian scoffed, still snarling. "You despicable bald spellbind. You're setting up a _toll_?"

"Merely safeguarding the Inquisition from potentially dangerous items," Solas answered, a sharp note of irritation underlying the words. His eyes narrowed. "However, as most of the artifacts will be of elven origin, they are mine to reclaim."

"Is that so?" Dorian grumbled sarcastically. He crossed his arms over his chest. "And if I refuse?"

"Dorian," Ellana interjected, trying to defuse the growing animosity between the two mages. "I'm sure we can come to a compromise. Solas and I would like to know what you found at the Qunari base. We…" She shot Solas an uncertain look, searching his reaction and finding only a stony somberness on his face. "…may have need of what you've found."

"For what purpose, exactly?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow. "And it seems to me I just fought through a legion of horned Qunari bastards in the name of the Inquisition—only to find myself waylaid by you two. As if you're not Inquisition." Motioning toward Ellana, he added, "As if _you_ are not the Inquisitor." He let out a high-pitched, humorless laugh. "I always knew you southerners were insane, but if this is some kind of joke it's not very funny."

"Our purpose is not your concern," Solas told him. "But the Qunari took artifacts from Elvhenan using the eluvians. They are elven and therefore belong to our people, not the Inquisition. If you have found any, I will require them."

"I'll ask again," Dorian snarled. "Will you leave us to starve or fall off into the void if we refuse?"

"No," Ellana answered before Solas could. She kept her shoulders squared and her back straight, hoping she radiated authority. Solas wouldn't abandon them in the Crossroads—would he? _No, of course not,_ she thought.

"No," Solas agreed with a nod in her direction, yielding to her. Ellana could feel the _but_ hanging in the air, yet Solas didn't give it voice. She guessed he would use spies within the Inquisition to get the artifacts regardless of what happened here.

Instead of answering Solas' edict, Dorian just glared at him. "What's going on here? The last I heard Cassandra sent Templar thugs after you." His gaze flicked between Ellana and Solas, his features twisting with both suspicion and worry. "Inquisitor?" he asked.

"Wait," Varric said, "Cassandra sent Templars after you, Chuckles?" He shook his head, scowling. "Well, shit. Sparkler, you'd run too if her holiness decided you needed an interrogation. I'd know, remember? I've had that dubious pleasure. You know, she won't hesitate to stab you where it hurts."

"They threatened to make him join a Circle," Ellana said, her voice quavering with anger.

Varric's eyebrows rose and he whistled. "Did you spring him out, Inquisitor?"

"She did not," Solas answered immediately, his tone hard and authoritative. "And we are not here to discuss it."

"Touchy subject, Chuckles," Varric said, raising his hands palms up in a motion of surrender. "Sorry I asked."

"Ellana," Dorian said, brow furrowing and eyes narrowed and dark with a mixture of concern and rage. "Has he forced you to come here? Are you under some kind of—"

Solas made a noise reminiscent of a gag in his throat, cutting him off. "Do not be ridiculous."

"Let her speak," Iron Bull shouted, baring his teeth in a snarl that matched Dorian's. The other Inquisition men and women stared at Ellana, tense and ready to attack Solas to protect her.

Speechless for several moments, Ellana found it difficult to breathe in the oppressive and hostile exchange. Shutting her eyes, she forced herself to speak. "I appreciate your concern, but you're being ridiculous as Solas said. _Of course_ I am here willingly."

Despite her words they didn't appear terribly convinced and Ellana felt her shoulders slump with exhaustion. How could they have grown so fearful and distrusting of Solas in so short a time? Where had it all gone wrong?

"Really," she said, making a shrug-like motion with both arms. "What else can I say to prove it to you?"

"Step away from _him_ for a moment and come speak with me," Dorian suggested, throwing Solas a quick glare.

"Of course," Ellana said, shrugging again. She backed away from the spit of rock, leaving room for Dorian to edge past her. Ignoring Solas' frown and tenseness, she let Dorian take her gently by the elbow and walk toward the other rock bridge that led to the next nearest island.

Behind them Solas stalked to the Halamshiral eluvian and Ellana felt her skin prickle when he reactivated it, despite being several meters away. She shivered and Dorian stopped short, his gaze darting over her with concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice tender yet tight.

"Yes," she answered with a nod. "A little nauseous but that seems to be the norm now." She smiled at the attempted joke but let it fall from her lips when Dorian's expression of concern only deepened.

"I'm sorry I didn't give you more advance warning about Cassandra's plans," Dorian said, the sadness in his eyes tearing at her. "I didn't realize they would act so quickly. They did kick me out, after all." He smiled wanly. "But I understand now why they did it." He leaned closer, his breath brushing over her cheeks as he said, "He's _using_ us, Ellana. That blighted Qunari base had more magical artifacts than the Fade has spirits."

She snorted, smirking. "Somehow I doubt that, Dorian."

He rolled his eyes, smiling with real humor now. "Oh, all right. Fine. The Fade has a _few_ more spirits. Regardless, I'm sure you recall how deeply your beloved elven apostate cared about that foci of Corypheus', yes? He practically wanted to give that shattered orb funeral services."

Biting back the laughter bubbling in her throat, Ellana nodded. "I remember, yes. Did you find more?"

Dorian started to answer and then stopped, staring at her obliquely for a beat before shaking his head. "You already know his game, whatever it is."

She hesitated a second, glancing over her shoulder to where Solas was talking stiltedly with Varric and the Iron Bull as they began to march Inquisition soldiers through the eluvian. When she faced Dorian again his expression was nearly unreadable, though she guessed he was troubled and yet also curious. Licking her lips, she confessed, "I do know it, yes."

"Or you think you do," Dorian supplied, arching a brow. "You understand that if he's not merely _Solas_ but is in fact _something else_ he could betray you, yes?"

Ellana shook her head, dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand. "Solas won't betray me."

Dorian sighed, staring at her with sad eyes. "I hope you're right, Ellana. I really do." Reaching out, he gripped her by the shoulders, his grip gentle as he gave her a squeeze. "You're not coming back to the winter palace or to Skyhold, are you?"

Suddenly Ellana's throat burned, tight with emotion. She swallowed. "I don't think so, no." She took a small breath in, steadying herself. "Solas needs me, and I need him. We're going to make the world a better place for…" When she saw his gaze drop to her abdomen she realized she'd laid her left hand over her navel and let it fall back to her side, feeling her cheeks heat up with a blush.

Dorian's expression turned somber, his lips pinching and his brow furrowing. "Ellana, if you're feeling trapped because you don't want your child to be fatherless…" His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders. "I could take you in. I've weathered worse scandals and I doubt anyone would believe it could be my child anyway, even if it is a mage those _ears_ will just—"

Ellana burst out laughing, shaking her head. "That's very sweet of you, Dorian, but Solas would probably leap into the void before he'd let you take me to Tevinter."

"It's not what _he_ wants, Ellana. It's about _your_ happiness. _Your_ safety," Dorian said emphatically, enunciating every word. "Just remember that whatever happens I will always be there for you—you have only to call." He patted the leather strap just peaking out over the neckline of his clothes and Ellana knew he meant the magic crystal that he'd given her at the start of the Exalted Council to ensure they could communicate even when a continent separated them.

Smiling with the warm affection brimming inside her own chest, Ellana tapped the pouch on her waist where she kept her own crystal. "Thank you, Dorian."

"Just don't start crying," he admonished, flashing a quick grin as he grabbed her in an embrace. "Or else you'll get me going, old girl."

She laughed again, though it emerged thick with emotion. "Too late," she said as they parted.

Wiping at her tears, she walked with him back to the eluvian and the others. Solas waited beside the active mirror, hands behind his back, jaw and shoulders squared. The Inquisition mages and soldiers had gone through the mirror by now, leaving Iron Bull and Varric waiting for Dorian with uncertain looks on their faces. Ellana didn't miss the somewhat wary gaze Solas sent her way.

"So, Boss," Iron Bull said, smiling closed-lipped at her. "Is this goodbye?"

She nodded. "For now, Bull."

The horned warrior grunted, grimacing. "Well then, it'd been a pleasure, as always." Turning his head to Solas, he said, "I don't know who or what you really are, Solas, but take care of yourself—and the Boss. Or the next time I see you I'll put one of my horns through your gut."

Solas frowned slightly but dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Meravas. Panahedan."

Iron Bull froze, his single blue eye widening. "You speak Qunlat?"

"Marginally," Solas said, but Ellana doubted that was the case. Solas never did anything _marginally._ Besides, Ellana had been there when Solas translated spoken Qunlat in the Deep Roads.

"As if I needed another reason not to like you," Dorian grumbled at Solas and then quickly said to Iron Bull, "No offense."

"Some taken," Iron Bull shot back, but he grinned. "We'll work it out tonight."

"Way more than I needed to hear," Varric said, wincing as he strode to the mirror, pausing to look up at Ellana and smile, a touch of something like sadness in his eyes. "It's been a pleasure, Lady Lavellan. I hope someday I'll get to see you at your estate in Kirkwall." He motioned toward Solas. "Chuckles can come too, since someone will need to watch the baby while we're playing Wicked Grace." He raised one meaty hand, finger up. "Oh, and that reminds me. One of you _has_ to write to me when the kid is born. I've got twenty royals riding on it being a boy."

Solas scowled. "Absolutely not."

Varric chuckled and waved a hand dismissively at Solas. "Suit yourself, Chuckles. I'll still find out eventually. And I always win." He grinned at Ellana, winking. "You'll write to me, won't you Inquisitor?"

Ellana laughed. "Of course, Varric."

"Good," the dwarf said, nodding with satisfaction. "My work is finished here." He strode through the mirror, making it thrum.

With a last glance at both Ellana and Solas, Iron Bull entered the mirror next. Dorian lingered a moment longer, clearly reluctant to leave. In front of the eluvian he turned and met Ellana's gaze over one shoulder and said, "You'll remember my offer, won't you? It isn't ever going to change. I know the Imperium's not ideal for elves but—"

"What?" Solas blurted, his mouth twisting with displeasure.

"I'll remember, Dorian," Ellana said, smiling. "But Solas will keep me safe." She deliberately stepped to stand at Solas' side in solidarity.

Solas blinked at her once, and then his jaw clenched with something akin to determination—with a touch of annoyance. "Of course, vhenan."

"Then I suppose this is goodbye, Ellana." His smile brimmed with melancholy. "For now, at least." He stepped into the fluid-like glass of the eluvian and it swallowed him, thrumming and glowing a brighter blue.

Solas stepped in front of the glass and thrust his palm to it, sending a blue glow of magic from his hand to the glass. Feeling her skin prickle at it, Ellana wrapped her arms over herself and shuddered. A moment later the glass went dark, leaving them alone with nothing but the groan of the Crossroads and the constant pattering of the waterfall nearby.

"What did you tell him?" Solas asked, staring at the dark eluvian.

"Nothing," Ellana answered. "Only that I know your plans and I trust you."

He nodded, sighing. "It should not have happened this way. I did not mean to place you in danger or to make you an enemy of the inquisition, the Templars, the Chantry—any of them." He shook his head, still staring down at the black rock underfoot. "It was inevitable that I should become their enemy." He closed his eyes. "But I had thought to leave you behind, to part ways before…"

Ellana stayed silent, watching him and waiting, unsure what to say. Her stomach flip-flopped with anxiety and a lump had grown in her throat. Swallowing did nothing to clear it though she kept trying.

Solas drew in a shuddering breath, still not looking at her. "You should know, vhenan. There is still much I have not revealed to you of my plans."

"I guessed as much, emma lath." The smile on her lips trembled, as if her muscles were too weak to keep it up. "But you don't need to hide anything from me. I thought you'd have realized that by now."

"I do not reveal everything to anyone," he said, his voice dry and brittle. "It is the only way to ensure survival of the network and of myself. I have been _harellan_ for so long it has become part of my blood."

"You know you can trust me," Ellana insisted, frowning with confusion.

Solas raised his head now and turned to look at her, his eyes somber and dark with grief. "I know, vhenan. It is not that I do not trust you." He averted his eyes again, shame coloring his face. "I do not trust myself."

Ellana strode to his side, reaching for his face and turning him to look at her. But Solas kept his eyes closed and Ellana felt his body tense under her hands. "Solas?" she asked.

"You asked for a true story of Fen'Harel earlier," he murmured, his lips trembling. "The truest one I know is that Fen'Harel brings death to those closest to him."

"Do you mean Mythal?" Ellana asked quietly.

Sighing, he leaned his forehead against hers. "Yes."

"Abelas said the Dread Wolf didn't kill her."

"My actions did," Solas muttered, his words thick with pain. "My rebellion made the other Evanuris turn on her for allying with me." He pulled away from her, finally opening his eyes and meeting her stare with misery. "But it was not just Mythal who paid for my actions. The very slaves I freed and encouraged to rebel rose up at the harvest one year and destroyed my village, killing my parents."

Ellana felt her eyes burn, her heart ache with sympathy even as she shook her head, uncomprehending. "But why would they—"

He made a small noise in his throat, a sort of choking sound. "They did not know. They struck at Elgar'nan's crops and followers without knowing that the middle-class families they killed were my loved ones. And how could they know? I told no one of my origins. The fault was mine. I thought to protect them from the Evanuris, so I kept my background a secret. They could have run when the rebellion took the crop fields, fled to the library, but they remained and tried to reason with the rebels."

He stepped away from her, scrubbing his face with one hand and clenching his teeth. "They did not understand the rage of the lower classes. They believed themselves innocent, that violence would not touch them if they refused to fight." He laughed, bitterly. It sounded closer to a sob as he turned his back to her.

Pain twisted through her heart, cutting like a hot blade. She whispered, "Have you alone carried the guilt of what happened to your family all this time?"

"Yes," he murmured. "I had to proclaim the raid and the deaths a victory when I heard of it." As he glanced over his shoulder at her the sight of tears in his eyes seemed to rob her of breath. His smile was bitter. "Who would follow a man if they learned he made such a foolish mistake? Everyone wanted to believe I sprang from the wilds, that I was born to wolves or to slaves. It was easy to let them believe whatever they liked. Anything but the truth."

To be the first person he had shared this horrible, tragic story with made Ellana feel dizzy. The words she wanted to say seemed caught in her throat, inadequate and useless. She could not imagine how excruciating it must have been for him. When she blinked she realized she'd started crying and sniffed. "Solas, I'm so sorry…"

"You are blameless, vhenan. I do not deserve your tears." He brushed his own tears away, evading her gaze and sighing. "I tell you this because you must know I am fallible. You must be vigilant. I cannot foresee the effects my plans will have, but I could not bear to lose you as well."

"You won't," Ellana vowed, reaching for him again. She wound her arms around his waist, pulling him tight to her and sighing as he returned her embrace and rested his cheek against the top of her head. "I love you, Solas, no matter the danger. Let me help you. Let me guide you." She broke off, laughing at the absurdity of her comment. "Though I'm hardly qualified to guide one of the Evanuris."

"Do not devalue yourself, emma lath. You have led the Inquisition for over three years. You know the burden of making decisions that will affect thousands of lives. You are a far better advisor than most of my arcane warriors ever were." His finger stroked the back of her neck, gentle and loving. "Although I fear what must come and I would have preferred we left the Exalted Council peaceably, I could never regret choosing to stay with you."

Two fingers lifted her chin and Ellana shifted to meet his lips with her own for a long, tender kiss. Ellana clung to him tighter and when the kiss ended they held each other for several minutes, just listening to the sound of the other's breathing. Finally Solas said, "We should make our way to my people."

Ellana watched as he knelt and began stuffing the magic objects the Inquisition forces had relinquished into his pack. She saw totems to the Evanuris: a halla figurine, a sculpture of an owl, and a dagger with a handle fashioned into the half-dragon, half-woman shape of Mythal. "They must have found more than that," Ellana murmured.

"They did," Solas confirmed as he finished loading the totems and closed his pack, standing up. "But that they relinquished anything to me is a measure of their profound respect for you." He smiled, though Ellana saw the sadness in it and knew they both couldn't help but think that they'd lost that respect with the earlier events of the day.

Pushing aside those thoughts, Ellana strode closer to him and took his hand, squeezing it in hers. "Let's not dwell on what's been lost. We have a world to restore."

He smiled, tender and gentle. "You are right, vhenan, as always."

Ellana motioned out into the endless sunset light of the Crossroads. "Lead the way, emma lath."

___________________________________________

After a half-hour walk across the Crossroads Solas brought Ellana to an inactive eluvian on a small island of black rock. The journey had been roundabout, requiring them to cross dozens of rock bridges that Solas cast or switched on using the magic-storing orbs at the edges of the islands. If Ellana had been a mage and able to Fade step Solas could've halved their travel time, but he cherished the idle time for the opportunity it presented for him to think.

They didn't encounter any of his people or Qunari on the journey and Solas hadn't expected to. He'd ordered Abelas and his arcane warriors to operate covertly, watching the Inquisition from a distance for nighttime activity in the Crossroads, expecting that he'd be there to witness anything they did during the day. Now the groaning song of the crossroads seemed hollow and lonely as they walked, likely the only living sentient beings within the construct.

At the dark eluvian that lead to Hellathen Hamin, Solas activated it with a quick flourish of magic from his right palm. Then, as the mirror thrummed and glowed, he told Ellana, "Follow behind me. They will not be expecting me and the eluvian is under watch on the other side."

Her eyebrows rose with surprise. "Will they attack you without being sure who you are?"

"Doubtful," Solas replied. "But I will take no chances."

Facing the eluvian, he stretched out his right hand and strode through it, shivering reflexively as the chilled magic of the mirror caressed him. Emerging out the other side he saw the familiar pale stone crumbling on either side of him. The sunlight here was pink-red, fading fast with twilight, but he still saw the silhouettes of the Elvhen warriors crouched on the walls of the ruins a few meters ahead. He felt their tension and their magic surge for a moment as they reacted to a person appearing through what had been a dark eluvian moments ago, and then they called out greetings in recognition.

As one figure leapt down from the wall, her armor glinting in the setting sun, Solas smiled as he recognized Lyris. Mathrel, her constant companion, remained on the wall, watchful as the eluvian thrummed behind Solas. Ellana stepped through and Solas turned slightly to check on her, ensuring the Anchor had not flared to life. The fingers of her left hand opened and closed, but otherwise he saw no sign of distress yet.

Lyris' steps thumped over the grass and dirt as she jogged to them. Her gaze swept over both of them as she ducked into a little bow. "Hahren," she greeted him with respect, caution in her eyes when she looked to Ellana. "You have returned. We did not expect you."

"Ir abelas," Solas apologized with a nod. "I did not expect to join you so quickly."

"What's happened?" she asked, immediately somber.

"I will explain in a moment, but first…" Solas sidestepped and motioned at Ellana. "May I introduce Inquisitor Lavellan." He quashed the frown that tried to steal over his lips as he realized he'd introduced her as _inquisitor_ despite the events of earlier that'd probably left the humans considering her a traitor to her own cause. Ellana, for her part, showed nothing but her usual grace as she smiled and gave Lyris a little bow.

"A pleasure to meet you…"

"Lyris," she said, supplying her name and grinning. Her blue eyes slid to Solas, a knowing look glinting in them. "I've heard a great deal about you, Inquisitor."

Ellana chuckled, sounding nervous. "All good things, I hope."

"Lyris," Solas scolded her, frowning. "There is work to be done. I have important news. Where is Abelas?"

A thump ahead drew Solas' gaze to where Mathrel had leapt from the wall and landed with a heavy grunt. "Hunting," he answered for Lyris as he walked toward them, his armor glinting in the pinkish dusk light. Standing beside Lyris, he bowed. "Hahren, welcome. Inquisitor, I am Mathrel, bondmate and combat partner to Lyris."

"Pleased to meet you," Ellana replied. "You can both call me Ellana. I don't believe I will still be the Inquisitor after what happened today."

Lyris made a face, reading Ellana's sadness. "Ir abelas, lethallan. You will always be welcome among us as one of the People."

"Thank you," Ellana replied, her voice thick with emotion. She cleared her throat. "Is there a source of water nearby? Do you have any tea?"

"Take us to camp," Solas ordered Lyris before she could answer, then looked to Mathrel. "Deactivate the eluvian and keep watch. We were not followed, but I will not risk it."

Both arcane warriors nodded, murmuring under their breath and springing into action. Mathrel jogged past them to the mirror while Lyris did an about-face and led them through the tangled, overgrown summer grasses. She wove through the crumbling ruins, scaling a few broken walls where archways had collapsed. Solas took up a position behind Ellana, watching over her as they splashed through puddles and squelched mud between their toes.

Finally they came to a ruined courtyard, overgrown with trees and bushes, some of which had been hacked down by Solas' group in recent days. Brown tents had been set up in circles around two fires. A pair of Dread Wolf statues watched the campsite from a rundown staircase on one side while on the other a proud white stone stag towered over the tents.

As they neared Ellana fell to walking at Solas' side and asked, "What was this place?"

"An outpost my forces claimed from Andruil. We called it Hellathen Hamin," he explained.

Lyris led them to the far campfire where a pot of water sat nearby. She brought a mug and filled it with the water, then brought it to Ellana, who accepted it with a grateful smile. "Ma serannas," she said and slurped on it thirstily.

"What happened that has brought the Inquis—" Lyris broke off, brow furrowing as she rephrased it. "What has brought you and Ellana to us so unexpectedly?"

"Divine Victoria called for my arrest as an apostate," Solas explained, suddenly feeling tired as the invisible weight of guilt pressed on his shoulders. "She and a number of others in power within the Inquisition were convinced I was a vessel of Fen'Harel."

Lyris stared at him a moment and then grinned, laughing. "A vessel?" she asked. "Ridiculous."

Solas allowed himself a small smile before he went on. "I escaped and Ellana volunteered to join me." It wasn't entirely true, but would suffice. Checking Ellana's reaction he saw only the pensive, troubled set of her face and felt the weight on his shoulders intensify, remembering what he had cost her…what his actions could still cost her.

"Abelas will be pleased," Lyris said. "We will benefit from your guidance, Fen'Harel." She blinked then, suddenly glancing to Ellana with alarm.

Ellana extended the mug out to Lyris, chuckling. "It's all right. I already know." She shot Solas a curious look. "You didn't tell them I knew the truth?"

"Apologies Lyris," Solas said, sighing. "I should have made it clear to you or Mathrel specifically. I see that Abelas has not shared what I told him with you."

Lyris' expression hardened and Solas' many years working with her told him she was suppressing irritation. "Abelas did not," she confirmed and then, her volume dropping, she added, "I am glad of your return to us on multiple fronts."

Seeing her tenseness, Solas nodded. "We will speak in the Fade tonight," he promised her.

"Fen'Harel enansal," she answered, bowing as she recognized the dismissal. "Do you wish me to return to watch with Mathrel?"

Sensing movement at the edge of the courtyard, Solas turned his head slightly and saw the glint of the sentinel elves' armor as they emerged through a crumbling archway. Two of the sentinels carried a pole and tied beneath it was a dead ram, its throat slit to drain away the blood. Abelas walked at the front of the group, tall and lithe and stolid as they neared the encampment.

"Remain here with Ellana," Solas instructed Lyris with a quick glance at both women. "I must speak with Abelas." He started to take a step and halted, frowning as he remembered Zevanni and the foci she'd found. "Zevanni has found a foci," he told Lyris, his voice cold and stiff with formality. "And I believe it to be fully charged."

Lyris' lips parted and she grinned, as feral as a wolf. "Then we can take down the Veil."

"Sooner than I had anticipated," Solas answered, noting Ellana's anxious expression. His hand itched, longing to reach out and caress her cheek with a reassuring touch, but he stifled it. Now was Fen'Harel's moment, and Solas could wait. "If you will excuse me," he said and walked with a quick, even stride through the tents to meet with Abelas' group.

Two sentinels had already set upon butchering the ram, one stripping its skin away with a blade while the other maneuvered the body and held its legs. Abelas stood nearby, arms behind his back and his eyes dark beneath his hood. The vallaslin of Mythal remained proudly emblazoned over his skin.

"Abelas," Solas greeted him with a stiff nod. "You have hunted well."

"Fen'Harel." Abelas returned his greeting with a little dip of his head. "The forest here is remote with few humans or other races. The game is easy to catch and the meat rich in fat. We could support a few hundred on foraging alone here the remainder of the summer." He paused, eyes narrowing. "If you wish to build an army."

"An army is easily seen, even from a distance," Solas said, plastering a small, chilly smile over his lips. "We must cling to shadow a while longer, lethallin."

"Time is not a commodity we can afford to waste," Abelas reminded him, scowling. "As you are so fond of telling me, Dread Wolf, we are all shem-elves now."

"Yes," Solas said, letting annoyance creep into the edges of his voice. "Time is our greatest enemy, but we have a wealth of enemies. And many of them already possess armies."

"Yet none of those enemies have the backing of Mythal," Abelas muttered. He shifted from foot to foot, his expression twisting with some unreadable emotion before he went on. "I have encountered shem-elves in the woods. They live in a clan and bear vallaslin. You call them Dalish?"

"They call themselves that," Solas answered. Unlike himself, Abelas and the sentinels hadn't been able to watch the waking world through the Fade and knew very little of the modern world. All elves of this world were shem-elves to them, separated only by whether they bore vallaslin. "You have spoken with them?"

"I have," Abelas announced, thrusting his chin out. "Their leader claimed Mythal visited her in a dream and bade her heed my words. They would serve Mythal and join us willingly to restore the People." He edged close to Solas, urgency in his voice and posture. "Mythal moves with us, Fen'Harel, and she would urge us swiftness."

Schooling his reaction, Solas merely stared at Abelas and remained silent. He'd visited Mythal after defeating Corypheus and taken what little magic and power she could provide him without her soul perishing. She'd likely gone to the Fade, and quite possibly moved on to another vessel—such as the witch, Morrigan. Yet Solas couldn't be entirely certain Mythal supported him now. They'd been as close as mother and son, teacher and student, in Elvhenan at one time. Yet her soul had inhabited this modern world for millennia while he slept. Those accumulated experiences had undoubtedly changed her. Her goals weren't necessarily his own any longer. The idea that she could feasibly oppose him with a force of her own made something in his chest hurt, but he pushed it aside as unlikely. He'd have to find her new vessel at some point and commune with her to solidify an alliance.

"We will take action, sooner than I thought," Solas revealed, deliberately avoiding discussing Mythal or her intentions. Although the sentinels were individuals and appeared to be under no compulsion, Solas knew the vallaslin they wore likely carried Mythal's blood. Someday they could become slaves to her will if Mythal's new vessel worked out a way to wrest control of them.

"You have news?" Abelas asked.

"One of my agents in Tevinter has located a fully charged foci," he replied, keeping his voice low and soft.

Abelas' gaze slid beyond Solas to the other campfire beyond the row of tents separating the sentinels from Lyris and Ellana. "Is that why you have brought the Inquisitor?"

"In part," Solas hedged, again deliberately vague though it earned him a disapproving glare from Abelas. Ignoring the sentinel elf's look Solas said, "The Inquisition may no longer be friendly toward us. Be wary."

"And the Qunari base?" Abelas asked. "My people saw the Inquisition activate the eluvian and enter it early this morning without you." His brow furrowed and his eyes sharp. "They turned against you." It wasn't a question.

"They suspected me," Solas admitted. "But no matter. The Inquisitor has joined me and the Qunari have mostly been eradicated. I deactivated the Halamshiral eluvian so the Inquisition can no longer interfere with us."

"Then what is the next move, Fen'Harel?" Abelas asked, his lips curling in a humorless grin. "We have the foci to tear down the Veil and restore the People. We must consolidate our forces and build a larger army of shem-elves."

Solas kept his face impassive as his mind churned like rapids in a fast-flowing river. Even one such as Abelas understood that removing the Veil would cause chaos. Demons would find themselves suddenly free in the waking world, able to possess non-mages and mages alike. Spirits that had been peaceably dwelling in the Fade would abruptly be torn from their existence there and flung into unchanging reality. The shock would twist them, the same way a sudden strong breeze could whip up harmless dust into a storm. The result would be still more demons.

For weeks all the races of Thedas would find themselves inundated with bloodthirsty demons. Hundreds, even thousands would die in the first few hours and days. The weak, the young, the unprepared and the unlucky would perish first. After that it'd be a slow war of recovery as the Fade and the waking world returned to the reality Solas had known in Elvhenan. By the time the restored world began to stabilize it would be a comparatively barren place, lonely with so many dead—spirit and sentient mortals alike—but the People would be immortal and every one of them a powerful mage. They would emerge the dominant race, especially if Solas survived to lead them as the sole Evanuris, capable of transforming the waking world as he could with the Fade in dreams.

To protect the Elvhen survivors from the approaching chaos Solas had considered warding them off belowground for a year or two. To reduce the amount of food they'd need they could enter deep sleep, waking in turns to serve as attendants to those who remained asleep. Some would need to remain awake and on the surface, leading armies of shem-elves against the demons and other races. Solas had shared these ideas with Abelas and his arcane warriors, providing them with _something_ to believe in as they did the preparatory work.

Yet now Solas couldn't help but second-guess himself. What if the devastation proved far worse than he imagined? What if, unfathomably, removing the Veil didn't reestablish magic among the People? What if it elevated _all_ mortal races? What if the chaos never ended and the People were too few to survive it?

Abelas hadn't stopped watching him, waiting expectantly. Clenching his jaw, Solas nodded with a tight smile. "If you believe the Dalish clan you encountered is trustworthy, tell their Keeper I will meet with her in a dream a week from now." He doubted a wild ranging Dalish clan would embrace the Dread Wolf—they'd see it as a trick certainly—but perhaps if they met Ellana…

"Then it is time our forces grew," Abelas said, his expression set with grim satisfaction. "I will approach the clan's leader when we hunt again tomorrow."

"The Inquisitor and I will accompany you," Solas said, making a swift decision. Ellana was too perfect a resource not to utilize for recruiting the Dalish to his cause.

Abelas shot him a questioning look. "You will go to them in person?" Shaking his head, he asked, "Is it wise to allow them to see you before they have pledged allegiance?"

"You misunderstand," Solas said patiently, a small, tight smile over his lips. "I will not go to them as one of the People. They must know it is Fen'Harel who calls them as much as Mythal. They must be willing to follow my orders and for the Dalish it will be a challenge."

"And if they refuse after seeing the Wolf?" Abelas asked, a note of something like amusement in his voice.

"Then we will part ways peacefully," Solas said, scowling. "There is always choice. There must always _be_ choice in the world we create. Do you understand?" He pinned the sentinel with a harsh look. "There will be no bloodshed."

"As you say," Abelas agreed, but his face revealed his doubt plain enough.

One of the sentinels who'd been butchering the ram appeared with a haunch of raw meat over a charred stick and extended it to Solas. "Fen'Harel enansal," she said.

"Ma serannas," Solas replied with a nod and, after sliding his sleeves up to avoid getting blood on them, he accepted the skewered haunch. With a nod to Abelas, he said, "Until tomorrow."

Abelas gave a more formal dip of his head. "Dareth shiral."

_________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

Ellana cringed, repulsed. Her lips curled in a snarl as she said, "I fought Corypheus to prevent that future from happening. _You_ fought to prevent that—or so I thought."

"I did fight Corypheus to prevent that," Solas replied, heat in his voice. "There was more at stake with Corypehus than you knew. Had the Veil failed entirely in that future you saw the Evanuris would have been freed."


	16. Romancing the Dalish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel begins to expand his forces with modern elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important for this chapter...remember the Prologue and Solas' gift of the enchanted Stormheart arrowhead that Ellana wore as a necklace? Yeah. Keep that in mind because you're going to get a laugh.

The Dalish clan had set up their aravels in a clearing about an hour's walk away from Solas' encampment—Hellathen Hamin, as he'd called it. The sight of the aravels and the halla made Ellana's heart beat faster, joy and nostalgia warming her from the inside out. The faint scent of their campfire carried a rich, sharp scent as the hearth keeper burned ceremonial herbs. The smell sent Ellana's mind tumbling back to her childhood as she recognized it: a good luck charm to bless the area the clan had settled in.

The high summer grasses in the meadow were golden, dipping with the weight of maturing seeds in their heads. From her spot at the edge of the meadow Ellana could see three girls stooped among the grasses, examining the grass stalks and then plucking the ripest seeds. Their high, fluting voices were cheery and carefree with youth. Ellana knew if she were closer she'd see their faces were bare. These girls had not yet become fully-fledged members of the clan.

"You miss this life, vhenan," Solas murmured beside her, his voice soft. They stood in the shadow of thick pine trees and other brush, crouched low to avoid startling or alerting the clan in the meadow far beyond. Abelas and two of his other sentinels waited just a few meters away.

"It's a beautiful life, when the land is generous," she answered, smiling. She closed her eyes. "I do not regret leaving my clan, though." Glancing at him, she reached over the small gap between them and gripped his bicep. "Are you sure about this?"

One corner of his lips turned upward. "I would not attempt it without you acting as my ambassador."

"How many clans have you visited since you've been awake?" Ellana asked.

"A handful," he answered. "But I spent a great deal of my time in uthenera watching the People." His lips pursed as his expression soured. "I tried to guide them, but most had little interest in my advice if they discerned my identity."

"But we have Abelas now," Ellana said, trying to reassure herself as much as him.

Hearing his name, the sentinel cleared his throat. "We await your command, Fen'Harel."

Solas' blue eyes slid to Abelas and he dipped his head in a nod. "Very well." His attention returned to Ellana. "I will not appear until summoned. For your safety do not wander deeply into their encampment." He let out a breath, brow furrowing. "I will be unable to speak while maintaining the shape-shifting spell." He held a rolled wolf skin headdress from his pack clutched in his left hand and Ellana knew it was a backup option to allow him to mask his face while still personifying the guise of Fen'Harel.

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Good," Solas said and shifted, unrolling the headdress. Blue tinted light flowed over the fur as he touched it and the flat, lifeless skin seemed to grow in size. The triangular ears perked up and the fur fluffed. Solas pulled the headdress over himself, the upper jaw with its toothy maw shadowing his entire face except for his chin and lips. He motioned to her and Abelas. "Ghilas," he said. _Go._

Ellana led the way, stepping nimbly through the brush and into the clearing. In her scout armor and equipped with her bow and arrow quiver she would easily pass as one of them, minus her bare face. Yet, as with her own clan, Ellana knew they'd recognize her as an outsider with astonishing quickness because they knew everyone in their small community instantly on sight.

One of the girls raised her head and saw her first, her mouth opening to call out and then freezing like a halla at the scent of a wolf. She drew the other girls' attention to Ellana and all three of them sprang to their feet and trotted toward the aravels, calling for the clan's Keeper and war leader. Across the clearing voices shouted as those in camp came to attention.

Abelas and the sentinel elves followed Ellana as she walked casually through the grass and stopped halfway between the nearest aravel and the tree line to wait for the Keeper to come out and meet with them. As a middle-aged woman appeared in the garb of a Dalish mage and started toward them with two warriors and three young hunters behind her, Ellana called out in greeting. "Andaran atish'an."

"Andaran atish'an, da'len," the Keeper answered when they were closer. Her brown eyes swept over Ellana and the sentinels, her expression vaguely wary until she spotted Abelas and the hares slung over his shoulder. "Abelas of the Arbor Wilds. I know you."

"Lethallan," Abelas replied, though he should have called her _hahren._ Stepping forward, he motioned with one hand to Ellana. "This is Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan."

"Inquisitor?" one of the warriors behind the Keeper asked, his mouth falling open. "The one who closed the Breach in the sky?"

Ellana grinned. "Guilty as charged."

The Keeper eyed her speculatively. "We came across some human merchants some months back who told us of the Breach in the sky and that a daughter of the People led the human Inquisition that returned the world to order." She hesitated, her voice mildly incredulous. "You are this woman, da'len?"

"I am, yes," Ellana replied, chuckling. "I am surprised word has spread this far. These lands are rich and remote. I did not expect my name to carry any weight."

"Where are your vallaslin?" one of the hunters asked, frowning.

Ellana stared at the hunter a moment, drawing in a deep breath. "I had them removed when I learned their original purpose was to mark the wearers as slaves."

They stared at her, eyes wide and shocked. Then the Keeper scowled and shook her head. "You are mistaken, da'len. The vallaslin honor the Creators and protect us from evil. They have always been with us." She gestured to Abelas and the sentinel elves. "Look upon your companions. If what you say is true surely—"

"Abelas and his sentinels are servants of Mythal. They bear their vallaslin as a mark of that devotion. I…" She felt her throat threaten to close as she saw the irritated look the Keeper flashed her for the interruption. Her heart pounded and she felt sweat gathering in the small of her back. How could she expect this clan to accept what she had to say?

"We have come with an offer," Abelas continued for her when she fell silent, cowed by her own doubts. He shifted, extending the two hares he'd caught in snares set the previous night. "A gift for your clan, lethallan. We ask only that you listen in peace to our proposal and if you choose to turn us away we will leave in that same peace. We will shed no blood."

The Keeper, her warriors, and the hunters had all tensed. Ellana saw their hands gripping weapons but they made no move to draw them. The Keeper nodded slowly and reached out to accept the hares from Abelas. "Mythal bless you," she thanked him and then chuckled as she felt over the soft fur. "Although I must admit your request sets me ill at ease."

Ellana picked up where Abelas left off. "What we are about to tell you—to show you, hahren—will shock you, I fear." Dropping her gaze to the gently swaying grass between their two groups, she chuckled sheepishly. "I know it stunned me to learn the truth about vallaslin, but what I must tell you next will be worse." Squaring her shoulders, Ellana raised her eyes back to the Keeper. "Abelas has told me your clan was visited by Mythal in dreams and that she wanted you to join our cause. We have come to tell you of that cause—but you should know Mythal is not the Creator who walks among us."

"But I have seen her in the beyond," the Keeper insisted, shaking her head. "My First has also heard her whispers. A few of the others and the children wake with the same tale though they cannot remember their dreams as I and my First do."

"And what did Mythal say to you in these dreams?" Abelas asked, his voice deep and somber, yet also urgent. Ellana checked his reaction and saw the passion in his face, the devotion making him fierce.

"She whispered that the People's time to fight is at hand. She told me that I must ensure my clan is strong and prepared for what is to come and that when her champion emerged I must follow him." She stared at Abelas, something like awe glinting in her eyes. "Are you not Mythal's champion?"

"I am merely a representative of her champion," Abelas said and Ellana restrained the frown that tried to twist her lips. Had she heard a twinge of bitterness in his voice?

"Then who…?" the Keeper asked, her expression warping with confusion and loss. She turned her probing gaze to Ellana. "Inquisitor? But you are a woman and Mythal named her champion a man."

Before Ellana could answer Abelas said, "Your people have forgotten much of the past, lethallan. Mythal was not sealed away with the Creators. She was murdered in body, leaving her spirit as the one who spoke with you in the beyond."

The Keeper stared at them, stunned and speechless. The young warrior who'd spoken up earlier said, "But that's impossible. Mythal is a goddess."

"Mythal was an ageless mortal," Ellana explained. "The other Evanuris turned on her, killing her."

"How can you know this, da'len?" the Keeper asked, breathless.

"I have met her vessel," Ellana explained. "Two years ago, when I visited Mythal's temple in the Arbor Wilds. I also met Abelas there. It was Mythal's wisdom that allowed us to defeat the darkspawn magister who tore open the Breach in the sky."

Now anger twisted the Keeper's face and confusion clouded the warriors and hunters behind her. "If Mythal walks among the People, why do our prayers go unanswered? Where was she when the humans broke their promise and took the Dales from us?"

Shifting with discomfort at the topic, Ellana watched the grasses wafting in the gentle breeze again. "I asked her that myself, hahren. But the truth is she is no goddess and it is only her soul that walks among the People inside a human body." She heard the elves in front of her gasp with dismay and licked her lips, hurrying to reassure them, her gaze leaping between each of them. "I know this is difficult to accept. I know it is a shock and goes against everything you have been taught and cherished about our gods. But I am of clan Lavellan. I am one of the People and I have seen these things with my own eyes. As difficult as they are, I know them to be true."

The Keeper let out a wavering breath, her arms crossing over her chest. "I believe that you believe, da'len. But I hope you understand that I have not seen these things myself so I cannot help but be skeptical."

Ellana smiled, nodding. "Of course, hahren. I was skeptical too. But Abelas and his people are of Elvhenan and they are direct witnesses." Her stomach and chest tightened as if gripped by invisible fists, knowing what she must say next would be the hardest. "Mythal's champion is also a survivor of Elvhenan. He is—"

"Where is Mythal's champion?" the Keeper interrupted, her brow furrowing. She and the elves behind her scanned the clearing, apparently anticipating or sensing that Ellana, Abelas, and the other sentinels with them had not come alone.

"Mythal has allied with Fen'Harel. He is the champion she spoke of," Abelas said, blank and to the point, apparently tiring of Ellana's more delicate approach. Ellana shot him an irritated look as the Dalish elves gawked in shock at his words—and then bristled and tensed.

"You lie," the Keeper spat at Abelas, her face blanching. "Creators' mercy. This is a trick of Fen'Harel's devising."

"No," Abelas and Ellana said simultaneously, but she fell silent, letting him explain. "Your people's legends are wrong about Fen'Harel. He was Mythal's ally in Elvhenan."

"Our ancestors warred among themselves," Ellana said, her voice tight with desperation. "The Evanuris enslaved thousands, marking them with vallaslin." Heart pounding, she edged closer, willing the Keeper to understand. "The vallaslin were blood magic, hahren. The slaves had no control over their lives. The Evanuris ruled with more cruelty than the Imperium. Fen'Harel fought to free them, and he locked away the Evanuris as punishment when they killed Mythal. Now he has returned to fight for the People again, hahren. You must believe me."

The warrior who'd first recognized Ellana stepped forward to stand beside his Keeper, his face set with grim determination. "I believe you, Inquisitor."

"Hevis," the Keeper rebuked, hissing between her teeth.

The young man, Hevis, frowned at her chastisement but didn't break eye contact. "I have not dreamed of Mythal—or if I have, I cannot recall it. But I do believe in you, Inquisitor. If you vouch for whoever claims the mantle of Dread Wolf, then I will follow."

"I will not allow it," the Keeper said, her voice breathy and her face flushing red.

"Please," Ellana begged. "Will you not even meet him?"

The Keeper eyed her obliquely, a muscle in her jaw fluttering. Ellana felt sweat on her back, making her underthings sticky and damp. Long seconds passed with no sound but the gentle sigh of the trees around the clearing. Far beyond the Keeper Ellana saw other hunters and hearthkeepers, mothers and children and elderly standing beside their campfire or near grazing halla, watchful and alert for danger.

Finally the Keeper sighed. "I have never dreamt before as I did when Mythal visited me in the beyond." She shook her head. "I felt the power of her command in my heart and now I understand her warning that I would not find what I learned easy to accept." A hard smile tugged at her lips. "If you swear to me Fen'Harel has not come here to shed blood, I will meet with him."

"I will swear by my clan, hahren," Ellana said, the words heavy and somber. "By my mother and my brother who yet live. I will speak no different words to my own Keeper someday when we go to them."

"I have already sworn my life to Mythal," Abelas said, stiff and formal. "But I can assure you the Dread Wolf is not as you remember him and will shed no blood this day unless you and your clan attack first. We bring gifts and ask only for words and take nothing you will not willingly give."

The Keeper nodded, her smile softening slightly. "Then I will speak with him."

Ellana pivoted to face the tree line behind them and raised her left hand to signal Solas. She felt the weight of the Dalish elves' eyes on her, both those close to her and the ones watching from camp. A chill passed through her as a shadow in the trees moved, peeling away from the greater darkness of the forest. Slowly a gray-black wolf as large as a horse emerged, one step at a time into the sunlight of the clearing. The Keeper cursed under her breath behind Ellana and cries of alarm issued from the camp.

"It _is_ Fen'Harel," the Keeper whispered, her voice strained with horror. "The Dread Wolf himself."

"You thought he would be a pretender," Abelas said with a note of amusement. "The Dread Wolf was determined to ensure you knew he and his power are real."

"But the legends of our people are wrong," Ellana reiterated emphatically. "He is no monster and wishes you no harm." She shivered again at the sight of the wolf at the edge of the clearing, though it stood motionless now, ears erect and mouth closed—a posture of neutrality.

"You serve the Dread Wolf?" the Keeper asked. Her eyes were wide, nostrils flaring with each breath like a frightened hare about to spring away.

"No," Ellana said, somber. "I follow the man."

"This beast is a man?" the Keeper asked, pointing a shaking finger at the distant wolf.

Rather than answer Ellana raised her left hand again to the wolf, signaling him to change shape. In a heartbeat the apparition of the enormous wolf evaporated into gray mist and then vanished entirely. Where the wolf's front legs and shoulders had been before a man now stood, lean despite the bulk of his robes and wolf headdress. At this less imposing figure the elves in the camp stopped their occasional calls of concern or entreaties to the gods for protection. The Keeper and her retinue visibly relaxed as well.

"Will you go to him?" Ellana asked the Keeper. "Will you hear his plans to save the People?"

Swallowing and with her face twisting with anxiety, the Keeper nodded. "I will listen."

Ellana smiled and looked to Abelas and his sentinels. "Then we will all go with you and speak a while, hahren."

____________________________________________

The sun was setting by the time Solas led Ellana and the sentinels back to Hellathen Hamin. They walked with quick, light treads, and even the sentinels were quick to smile and laugh as they chattered amongst themselves. The clean, fresh air of the unspoiled wilderness tickled Solas' nose with pollen, reminding him of near-careless days in the distant past when he'd been a youth, wandering the wilderness and Fade. Now, although he had a great deal more to worry about, he found the trials to come didn't press on him as much as they had mere hours ago.

The Dalish clan had pledged to fight for him in the name of the People and restoring the world, despite their trepidation and their traditional view of Fen'Harel as a monster. Of course he had told them little of how he planned to achieve his goals, but with Ellana's help and Abelas there to represent Mythal they'd been able to see and hear the passion in him and judged him a worthy leader. He had not thought wild Dalish clans far from the pressure of the Imperium's slave trade would pledge to follow him. In fact, he was certain this clan would not have done so if not for Ellana's persuasive presence and Mythal's mysterious dream intervention.

Of all the questions hovering in Solas' mind, Mythal's connection was the least clear. What were her motives in this? Did they match his own? Would she reappear soon in a new vessel? If so, Solas anticipated trouble from Abelas and his sentinels. Already Lyris had complained that Abelas kept his own counsel and his elves were ever tightlipped and guarded around the arcane warriors. They fought together well enough and didn't bicker, but Lyris sensed the division and told him she worried it was growing. Adding Mythal to the situation would worsen things exponentially.

Yet that concern seemed distant too as he watched Ellana walk ahead of him, a new bag made of white halla skin flopping against her hip with each step. The clan's Keeper had given it to her as a gift and she beamed with joy and pride as she accepted it. The bag was for gathering and Ellana often darted from their path to pick edible fiddleheads, mushrooms, and berries. By the time they reached camp the halla skin bag was bulky with foraged goods.

He had never thought to employ Ellana as an ally in her own right for recruiting the Dalish, but now that it had worked once he felt confident it would work again. He could double the size of his forces with Dalish recruits and simultaneously change their minds about Fen'Harel. In time they'd sing new songs and tell their children that the day the Dread Wolf returned to the People was the start of a new and glorious age. The prospect brought victory closer, filling his blood with the heat of pride and satisfaction. And he owed it to Ellana. Longing for her awoke in him like a flash fire consuming dry leaves, but Solas buried it, knowing it'd have to wait until they were alone.

As night settled over the encampment both groups of elves sat in a circle around the campfire, eating from a pot of thick stew that one of the sentinels had prepared. Solas let the sentinels and Ellana detail their interaction with the Dalish for Lyris and Mathrel, taking the opportunity to observe everyone. He noted Abelas stayed quiet as well in his spot across the fire from Solas, though he often cast unreadable glances at Ellana.

But when the conversation changed to their next plan of action, a topic driven by Ellana, Solas stiffened with tension. Her green eyes probed at him, glinting in the orange-yellow light of the campfire as she asked, "How and when exactly will you remove the Veil?"

With all of them watching—Ellana, both arcane warriors, Abelas and the four other sentinel elves—Solas kept his face impassive. "There is a great deal of work yet to be done," he answered Ellana, vague and yet sensible enough that he hoped she wouldn't pry further. "I cannot be certain of how long it will take, but the world and the Fade must be made ready before I can remove the Veil."

"And that means what exactly?" Ellana asked, her smile crooked. "Tearing down the Veil will cause chaos worse than the Breach. I've seen a future like that at Redcliffe."

"Redcliffe?" Lyris asked, frowning.

"It's a human village in the Hinterlands," Ellana explained quickly. "A Tevinter magister named Alexius used time magic there while trying to kill me and accidentally sent me to a future where Corypheus had torn the Veil down almost completely." She shook her head, anger glinting in her eyes as she turned her gaze back on Solas. "There were rifts everywhere and demons attacked around every corner. The Breach took up the whole sky and red lyrium was growing everywhere. Is that the chaos you'll cause taking the Veil down?"

Familiar with her description and the events of Redcliffe, Solas clenched his jaw and hesitated. The other elves were unbothered by Ellana's story and as the silence stretched Solas saw her search their faces to find the answer he couldn't bring himself to utter aloud. Finally Solas said, "It would prove brief, vhe—Ellana."

Ellana cringed, repulsed. Her lips curled in a snarl as she said, "I fought Corypheus to prevent that future from happening. _You_ fought to prevent that—or so I thought."

"I did fight Corypheus to prevent that," Solas replied, heat in his voice. "There was more at stake with Corypehus than you knew. Had the Veil failed entirely in that future you saw the Evanuris would have been freed."

Now she blinked, flinching as she made the connection.

Solas should have felt satisfaction or vindication at her reaction, but instead he just felt weary, as if heavy weights had been placed on his shoulders. "We will do all that is possible to save lives during the chaos until the world stabilizes. But initially there will be no way to avoid casualties."

She shook her head, her expression hardening with determination. "There _must_ be another way." The firelight cast flickering, wild shadows over her features. "You promised me we would seek another way."

"I have not broken that promise," Solas answered, quiet and grim. "But I cannot sit idle and let the People die."

"But at what cost?" Ellana asked, choking on the words. "This world is not so ruined that it cannot be saved. Can you really be sure that tearing down the Veil won't make things worse again, permanently?" She sucked in a quavering breath. "And what of our friends? Dorian, Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, Iron Bull, Varric—even Vivienne." Chuckling miserably, Ellana covered her face with both hands. "They don't deserve to die just because they aren't elven."

Mathrel grunted then from his spot beside Lyris to Ellana's right. "Humans, Qunari, dwarves. All of them are trespassers. Usurpers of Elvhenan's greatness. Leeches."

"Fenedhis," Ellana growled out, glowering at the warrior. "You're as bad as the humans."

Lyris clucked her tongue, scolding Mathrel. "Emma lath, dar'atisha."

The warrior scowled and apologized, his voice deep and gruff. "Ir abelas. But I am not some sniveling shemlen."

"Venavis," Solas admonished and then looked to Ellana at his side. "We can provide warning to Orlais, Ferelden, even Tevinter," he suggested. "We can provide aid and guidance as well."

"Assuming we even survive," Ellana shot back at him, baring her teeth in a savage grin. "You cannot promise that the People will even survive the coming chaos. You did not see the dark future in Redcliffe. I did."

"We will remain underground in warded safe holds," Abelas added, motioning with his hands. "In uthenera and stasis. We will survive."

Solas watched Ellana as she glared at Abelas, her face red with frustration even with the orange firelight painting it. Then Ellana scowled, staring into the fire as one hand rubbed at her navel absently. Solas knew what she'd be thinking with that gesture: _What world will this leave for our child?_ Regret tightened its grip around Solas, but he swallowed the lump in his throat down, unwilling reveal his own doubt in front of the others.

Finally Ellana turned her head so that she met his stare. Her face was half lit by fire, half in the shadow. "I told the Keeper today that I follow you, _Solas._ I meant that." She let out a breath, her shoulders shaking with it. "There will be another way. I _know_ it."

"Whatever comes the Veil must be destroyed," Solas said, firm and stoic despite the ache that seemed to be tightening in his chest. "Beyond that I promise I will do all within my power to save as many as possible."

She blinked and sniffed, her eyes too moist as she nodded. "Telanadas," she muttered under her breath and then rose abruptly to her feet. "I'm tired. I will see you all in the morning."

"Inquisitor," Abelas said, bidding her goodbye with a nod. Lyris and Mathrel and a few of the sentinels murmured similar goodbyes, polite and icy. Solas watched the fire, the tongues of orange licking at the charred logs on their hearth. He listened to Ellana's steps retreating away to the tent they'd shared together the night before. The victory during the day with the Dalish clan seemed faraway now, as distant as the cold starlight overhead.

Tomorrow he expected Zevanni would arrive with the foci and once Abelas, the warriors, and all the sentinels had seen it their excitement and eagerness would only intensify. Meanwhile Ellana's trepidation and doubt would grow. Unless Solas could find another way to restore the People that somehow did not destroy the rest of Thedas he risked driving her away. The idea left him cold and numb with dread—like his own namesake.

Abelas and the sentinels peeled away from the campfire, returning to watch duties or going to their tents to slumber for the night. Solas remained at the fire, his staff resting against his shoulder and his face twisted in a mild frown. To his right he heard Mathrel and Lyris speaking in hushed tones but paid them no mind until he heard Lyris call his name.

"Fen'Harel?"

He raised his head, meeting her eye. "Lyris?" he asked, finding the energy to smile somehow.

"Will you walk with me that we might speak?" she asked. Her eyes twinkled in the firelight. Beside her Mathrel stared into the flames, his arms crossed over his chest and his features creased with an expression that made him look like he might have a stomachache. Solas had known Mathrel long enough to know he was sulking, disapproving of whatever his partner was up to.

"Of course," Solas answered and got to his feet. He walked from the light of the campfire and wove his way through the tents to the edge of the ruined courtyard. Beneath the statue of the left Dread Wolf statue near the crumbling stairs, Solas stopped and regarded Lyris. "What is it?"

Her hands went to her hips, her armor clinking with the movement. "How far along is she?"

Solas cocked his head, like a dog trying to puzzle out an unfamiliar word. "Pardon?"

Lyris rapped her fingers against her belt, making a tapping noise. "Ellana is with child. Do not try and deny it. I've seen the way she lays her hand over herself. And this morning she was as green as a toad before you insisted she eat something." She let out a short laugh. "Not to mention how thirsty she is, constantly."

Frowning as he felt heat creep into his cheeks, Solas said, "This is not a topic for discussion."

Lyris scoffed at him. "Did you really think you could hide it? From _me?"_ Anger formed a little crease above her nose.

If anyone was to see Ellana's condition so soon Solas had always known it would be Lyris, though he still wouldn't have expected it to be _this_ quickly. He didn't know the personal histories of any of Abelas' sentinels, but Lyris and Mathrel had been parents before uthenera. They'd served Ghilan'nain in Elvhenan, but when Lyris fell pregnant they became bond partners, husband and wife. They raised a daughter together and had hoped to have her join their ranks as another arcane warrior. But their daughter grew into a Dreamer, just strong enough to be taken for the upper class.

Ghilan'nain had discretion over the decision and had been unmoved by Lyris and Mathrel's pleading that their daughter not be taken from them. Solas, who happened to be at court at the time, had overheard Lyris petitioning Ghilan'nain and viciously disagreed with the other Evanuris' decision. And that had been when Mathrel and Lyris left Ghilan'nain to serve Solas instead. They could not keep their daughter as Ghilan'nain's nobility claimed the girl, but they wholeheartedly embraced Solas' rebellion and the change it represented.

Solas had always known Lyris' goal for the world post-Veil had been to restart her family, to be a mother again. She would not have more children until she knew they could be raised in a world that would not rip them from her arms. Unfortunately she'd woken with Solas and Mathrel to find the modern world repressive and unacceptable.

"I have not tried to hide anything," Solas murmured, adopting a gentler tone than before. "I merely did not see any need to discuss her condition."

Now Lyris grinned. "So she _is_ with child." Laughing, she shook her head, shooting him a sidelong look that made Solas frown all over again. "I didn't realize you intended on repopulating the restored world yourself."

Solas sighed. "Must we discuss this?"

Lyris crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at him. "I truly hope you're not this grouchy with her on the matter. She's a powerful ally for recruiting these shem-elf clans."

"You think I have not realized that?" Solas retorted, irritation clipping the words. He fidgeted with his coat sleeve to avoid looking at the warrior for a few moments as he wrestled with tumultuous emotions within him. The heat of humiliation at the personal topic and how swiftly Lyris had ferreted it out, along with the growing desire to confide in her how much Ellana's condition both thrilled and terrified him.

Lyris' expression was stony now. "You do not want a child."

Now Solas was the one to glare at her. "Of course I want _my_ child," he spluttered, biting out the words. He drew in a breath, calming himself. "It is simply unexpected and the timing is unfortunate. I fear for their safety."

A slight smile tugged at one corner of her lips. "An accident then. And here I thought Fen'Harel planned everything."

Solas scoffed, feeling a blush heat his cheeks and spread all the way to his ear tips. He stared in the direction of camp, finding the tent he and Ellana shared and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Instinct and embarrassment made him want to deny Lyris' comment or scold her, but he quashed the reaction as unworthy of him. Instead he said, "The matter is private."

In truth he was still perplexed as to _how_ it had happened. He had no doubt the child was his despite the rumormongering in the winter palace about Cullen, but he'd sensed the magic still inside Ellana's anklet charm. It should have been more than strong enough to prevent conception, yet clearly it had failed shortly after he returned to Skyhold. In the flurry of confessing his identity, fighting Qunari in the Crossroads, being arrested under Divine Victoria's orders, and now finding himself and Ellana effectively exiled, he'd naturally had little chance to consider _how_ Ellana's charm had failed when it still held magic…

Unless some other magic had countered it.

And that was when he remembered the stormheart arrowhead he'd given to her, enchanted with his own magic. He'd meant for it to strengthen barriers around her cast by himself or other mages and to nullify hostile magic. Had _he_ nullified the anti-conception anklet charm? The realization swept over him like a wave of hot water, making his head spin and then his skin burn with shame. How could he have been so foolish as to forget to check for conflicting enchantments and wards?

"It won't remain private," Lyris warned him, failing to see the shock of his internal realization as Solas stamped it out. "Everyone will know in only a few weeks." She reached for him, laying a hand on his forearm. "You cannot expect her to accompany you into the coming battles."

Chuckling dryly, Solas shook his head. "I have no desire to place her in danger. It is Ellana who refuses to see reason. I hope you are right in assuming I will be able to stop her short of tying her down."

Lyris smirked. "Well, you're in luck then. A baby will certainly tie her down." She sobered, her gaze heavy with sympathy. "I do not envy your position, Fen'Harel. She opposes our plans, yet is vital to them in more ways than I suspect she knows. Yet now her condition will make it impossible for her to enter uthenera or stasis, and a child cannot enter such a state either. You cannot delay and yet taking action will—"

"I do not need to be reminded of the challenge ahead," Solas cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand. Everything Lyris had said was true. Solas needed the Anchor to enter the Fade physically, so Ellana was a vital part of his plan's success and had been one aspect that'd held him back until now. With her on his side as a willing participant he could enter the Fade at will, but at the risk of destabilizing the Anchor and harming Ellana by bringing her to danger.

Lyris was also right about Ellana's condition preventing her from entering stasis or uthenera. The same was true for children. Anyone with a body rapidly growing or requiring more energy than minimal would perish in either state of being, no matter how much magic was used. She would have to remain awake as an attendant, protected behind the wards but vulnerable to starvation and thirst as food and water stores gradually ran out. If the Anchor destabilized while Solas was unconscious, or if their safe hold was breached in an attack, he'd have no way to protect her.

Putting these issues together meant Solas was trapped and no matter when he took action either Ellana or his child would be in danger…with the current plan, anyway.

The grim sympathy in her eyes hadn't faded despite his irritation with her. "Regardless, Fen'Harel…" Lyris paused, her brow furrowing. "Solas. You must support her, be kind to her. She told me she had to leave the Inquisition suddenly under less than ideal terms for your sake. She will need your reassurance doubly for her condition and recent events. She has gone very quickly from being a leader with a powerful force behind her to a subservient in a very different cause."

Solas nodded. "I understand, Lyris, and thank you."

"Don't thank me, Fen'Harel—just make sure you take it to heart," she said, her teeth bright against the dark as she grinned. "And congratulations. Fen'Harel enasal."

Solas shook his head. "There has been no triumph yet," he cautioned Lyris.

Immediately she frowned at his reply. Her voice was stern and sharp with reprimand as she said, "Every elven child is a triumph." As Solas stared at her, lips parted slightly with surprise, Lyris dipped her head in a little bow and excused herself, returning to Mathrel and the campfire.

Alone in the dark, Solas let his eyes rove up to the velvet black of the starry sky. _Enasal_ , Lyris had said, referencing the triumph and joy one feels when overcoming adversity. Yet until the Veil came down, restoring both the People and the world, Solas knew he could not afford celebration and he could not allow his concern over Ellana and his unborn child to slow his progress. Every pureblooded elven child held value, ensuring the People continued on in this mortal world, but they had no future while the Veil remained.

Solas felt determination harden in his chest. He would provide that future for the People, for Ellana and his child and all pureblooded elven children born and unborn—even if it killed him. Even if the only way to do it meant killing the other races and in doing so drove Ellana away from him. How could he give anything less to her, his child, and the People?

The little voice of hope whispered in the back of his mind. _Do not give up hope, there may yet be another way._ He wished then that he believed in the Maker, that he might have someone or something greater than himself to beseech for an answer. But the stars and the enormity of creation spread out above and around him remained stoic and silent. He had no one but himself to solve this problem, just as he had been the one to cause it in the first place.

Leaving the Dread Wolf statue behind, Solas headed for the tent he and Ellana shared. Reaching it, he stooped and shuffled inside as quietly as he could, hoping not to disturb her if she was asleep. But as his eyes adjusted to the greater darkness inside the tent he saw the glint of Ellana's eyes as she blinked, watching him.

"Vhenan," he murmured softly. "You're awake."

She shifted, sitting up and taking the great bear pelt with her. The stormheart arrowhead she wore at her neck stood out dark against her pale skin even in the low light. Seeing it made Solas' cheeks heat with embarrassment at his own mistake. It was as bad as the time Vivienne had ridiculed him for catching his own coattails on fire.

"I dozed off a few times waiting for you," she admitted, the words thick with fatigue.

"You're looking to discuss our next step," Solas guessed as he shed his overcoat and tugged the tunic underneath it off. Folding them neatly and placing them near the closed tent flap, he said, "Unfortunately I have no new ideas as to how we can lessen the devastation of removing the Veil."

"Have you given it any thought? Where might we look for—"

"This is not a mystery we can unravel the way you did with Corypheus," Solas interrupted her with a long exhaled breath. "You must remember I created the Veil. I understand how it functions. Removing it unavoidably will create demons, just as destroying a dam will cause a flood downstream. There is no escape from that reality."

"Then maybe you need to consider it a different way," Ellana retorted in an angry tone.

Staring at her through the dark, Solas' shoulders fell. If he had weeks of time and energy to explain the nuances of the Veil and how it functioned she'd realize what she asked was impossible. There was no way to ease the sudden transition and its impact on both the Fade and the waking world. That left alternatives like uthenera and stasis to survive the devastation, but it would be impossible to protect everyone with wards. And the other races wouldn't benefit at all from uthenera or stasis. Instead they'd just starve behind the protection of their wards as the demons persisted for months or even years.

"Vhenan," he said, shaking his head. "You do not understand the—"

"Then teach me, Solas." She pushed the pelt aside, moving to take his hands in hers. "Help me help you solve this problem. Please." Her underclothes were thin and silken, loose against her frame.

It was as if she'd read his mind, but it did little to comfort Solas. Squeezing her hand, he smiled anyway, though he knew it'd be full of melancholy. "As you wish. Perhaps you will uncover a solution I have not considered." He wanted to believe it was possible, that he'd been staring at this problem so long that he could no longer see another way. But more likely teaching Ellana would just allow her to see the hopelessness of her desire—and that the cost of what Solas planned might kill him.

"Thank you," she said and pressed forward to kiss him.

Solas met her halfway, caressing his hands up her shoulders as he deepened the kiss, tasting her as the hunger he'd felt earlier that day reawakened inside him. When his fingers grazed the bare skin of her neck, sliding beneath her silken nightshirt, he felt the leather strap of the stormheart arrowhead. The magic of it—his own magic—leaped from it and passed through his fingertips.

With a little gasp he broke the kiss and cursed, "Fenedhis." Sheepish shame cut him, making it impossible to meet her abruptly concerned gaze.

"Solas?" Her hands found his still at her neck and gripped them. "What's wrong?"

He closed his eyes, grimacing. "Vhenan, I must ask your forgiveness."

"For what?" she asked, sounding confused.

Sighing, Solas turned his head back to her, though he looked at her throat, not her face. Slowly he dragged his fingers to touch the arrowhead again, feeling the magic tickle at his touch. "Your anti-conception charm never failed, vhenan. My gift to you nullified it as hostile magic. I was foolish and did not think to check for a conflict with any enchantments or charms you already wore." He risked looking at her quickly and saw her eyes were wide as understanding dawned. "The blame is mine. It was an inexcusable mistake that—"

She pressed a finger over his lips. "Solas," she said, smiling softly. "This is not something we assign blame for. It could have been my charm that failed just as easily since I hadn't considered it in a year at least." She chuckled. "And anyway, I think we're both responsible."

Remembering the night he'd given her the arrowhead made Solas' heart pound with excitement. He watched her face, eyes darting often to her lips as he wrestled with his own mixture of arousal and shame. She should be angry with him for his foolishness. _He_ was angry with himself for it—yet somehow he didn't regret the child, even knowing how much it complicated everything.

Ellana's hand went to the arrowhead at her throat, her eyes losing their focus. "Would you take it back if you could?"

He knew without having to ask that she meant the child, not the arrowhead. He scowled and shook his head. "No, vhenan. Never." He smiled slightly. "Though I do wish it had happened _after_ I removed the Veil."

"Then there's nothing to forgive and no blame. It doesn't matter how we made our child, just that he's here." Her smile was bright despite the darkness and it made Solas' stomach flip-flop with want. He didn't miss the way she'd called their child _he_ again either.

Leaning his forehead to hers, Solas purred, "I believe we both know how we made our child, vhenan." His hands moved to her waist, one caressing upward while the other went low around her hip.

"Is that so?" she asked, her breath catching a little on the words. "You might have to refresh my memory."

"Gladly," he said and kissed her hungrily.

______________________________________

**Next Chapter**

"Aneth ara," Ellana shouted the friendly Dalish greeting used between clans, still searching the woods around them for whoever she'd sensed watching them. "We are peaceful."

A figure stepped into view from a thick bush atop the next hill, moving with the slow grace of all Dalish hunters. But as he moved into the dappled beams of afternoon sunlight streaming in through the canopy above Ellana's jaw dropped with recognition. "Negan?"

"Ellana?" he asked, quiet with shock. "Is that really you?"


	17. Mythal's New Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months have passed. Ellana and Solas reach clan Lavellan. Morrigan visits Ellana in a dream to introduce a new idea.

Ellana watched the halla grazing from her perch atop a rounded gray boulder. The sky was bright blue and cloudless, the air warm and heavy with summertime humidity. Flies buzzed her face and she waved them away. The river babbled nearby, reminding her she had to relieve her bladder soon, but she pushed that thought aside and continued her silent vigil watching the halla. Her bow and quiver were on her back, her scout armor comfortable though a tad warm with the mid-morning sunshine beating down on her.

This was the Exalted Plains, near Keeper Hawen's clan. How had she come to be here? The last she remembered she'd been on her way to Wycome, traveling a rough road through the wilderness with Solas, Abelas, and several other warriors and sentinels from the Crossroads network. Unable to recall, Ellana frowned to herself, then shifted again to try and forget the need to empty her bladder.

"They call it Dirthavaren," a familiar female voice spoke behind her.

Ellana leapt to her feet, tensing and twisting round. Morrigan stood in the shadow of the rocky cliff side behind her, her head cocked to one side and her golden eyes dark. The rocks around Morrigan had an odd green coloration and a wispy mist flowed around her legs, seeming to rise from the earth. That _meant_ something. What did it _mean?_

Ellana's toes gripped the boulder, one hand on her bow and the other on the feathered fletching of an arrow. "Morrigan…?" she asked.

"Is the weapon truly necessary, Inquisitor?" Morrigan asked, arching an eyebrow. "'Tis an awfully rude way to greet an ally."

Ellana frowned and slowly lowered both her hands to her side, though she kept her grip on the bow. "What do you want, Morrigan?"

"Just to talk. I daresay we have much to catch up on after two years." She strode out from the shadow and into the sunlight. Green mist swirled around her feet and Ellana saw the dirt beneath Morrigan's boots had an emerald tint now. _That's not right,_ Ellana thought but kept herself from frowning.

Morrigan interrupted her thoughts, clucking her tongue and inhaling in a mock gasp. "I see the rumors out of the Exalted Council were true. Inquisitor Lavellan with child! Oh the scandal!"

The scantily clad witch made a broad circle around Ellana, her eyes locked on her as she walked. Something about her seemed darker, larger and broodier than Ellana recalled. She fought the nervous twist inside her that made her hands sweat, longing to ready an arrow.

Morrigan went on, smirking, "I'm not convinced the rumors about the child's father are accurate, however. The good Dalish girl who bowed to Mother as Mythal wouldn't sully her elven blood."

Ellana rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Morrigan?" she repeated, letting irritation creep into her voice. She didn't try to refute Morrigan about her pregnancy—the slight swell of her belly was visible now even with her armor adjusted to be loose. Anyone who'd known her before the pregnancy would see she'd put on weight, and all of it was suspiciously in her middle.

"Nothing, yet," the witch answered, stopping now so that she blocked the view Ellana had of the grazing halla in the field downhill. "I had hoped to put you at ease bringing you here, reminding you of what you fight for at the Dread Wolf's side."

_Bringing me here…_ The answer slammed into Ellana like one of Solas' Fade rocks. She twisted around, staring up at the sky and seeing the tinge of green in it now. "We're dreaming," she muttered, more to herself than to Morrigan. "We're in the Fade."

Then another thought made her turn back to Morrigan, eyes widening. "You shaped the Fade into this? How?"

Morrigan smiled, nodding once. "Not I, exactly. Not alone, anyway. I had a little help from Mythal."

Ellana gawked, speechless a moment. "You're Mythal's vessel now? What happened to Flemeth?"

"Yes," Morrigan said, the smile falling from her lips. "I am Mythal's vessel." She shook her head, baring her teeth for a moment in a silent snarl before her expression went blank again. "Though ours is not the most harmonious of unions, yet."

"She compels you," Ellana guessed, her mind spinning. "Because you drank from the Well."

"Yes, yes," Morrigan muttered, her mouth forming the snarl again as her eyes squinted shut as if with pain. "She and I are not always in agreement, but we are of one mind in this: Fen'Harel's plan to restore the People will lead to disaster for Thedas."

Ellana's throat seemed to swell with a hot lump she couldn't swallow. In the weeks since she'd first asked Solas to teach her about the Veil and his plans she'd learned a lot, but she'd come no closer to seeing a way around slaughtering thousands in the chaos. She had no reason to believe Solas would hold back vital information as she could see the pain in his face, hear it in his voice, when he considered the misery he'd cause when he tore down the Veil. They'd bickered about it countless times, but they always reached the same impasse: Solas carried the weight of the People on his shoulders and would not hesitate to sacrifice Thedas to return them to glory while Ellana refused to accept such an atrocity.

"Do you see a better way?" Ellana asked, her voice tight.

"I do," Morrigan said, staring at her obliquely from the corner of one eye. Her golden irises glinted in the sunlight. "But I fear approaching Fen'Harel directly as he will sense Mythal within me and…" She fell silent, grimacing again in a way Ellana was beginning to suspect reflected her inner struggle with Mythal.

"And what?" Ellana asked, still trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her chest constricted, certain whatever Morrigan—or was it Mythal now?—had to say wouldn't be something good.

"Well," Morrigan said, a grim smile on her lips. "The last time Mythal met with Fen'Harel he killed Mother."

Ellana flinched as if Morrigan had struck her across the face. "You're lying."

Morrigan laughed and spread her arms out wide to indicate the glory of the Exalted Plains as reflected by the Fade. "Tell me, Inquisitor, do you really think I could create this without Mythal's help? I sought you out in dreaming. This is not a talent the Well gave me, but Mythal. And why would Mythal leave Mother, unless she were dead? Who do you think would have the power to truly kill Mother?"

Heart pounding and mouth dry, Ellana shook her head. She refused to believe it. "Solas would never kill Flemeth unless she attacked him first. He and Mythal were close in Elvhenan. He would never—"

"Your blind devotion is admirable, Inquisitor," Morrigan said, her sarcasm unmistakable. "But 'tis still foolish. Mythal knows your lover as you never can and she whispers to me now that his ruthlessness and cunning were renowned in Elvhenan." She cocked her head, eyes narrowing as if listening to a voice only she could hear. "Tell me, has Fen'Harel ever told you how he came to have control over the Crossroads?"

"No," Ellana admitted. Her hand opened and closed at her side, curling into a fist as she tried to keep calm and not fidget or wiggle in place—she _really_ had to pee.

"Before he joined your Inquisition, Fen'Harel had an agent named Felassan who worked with Briala on his behalf. Strange, don't you think, that you have not met this agent? I suggest you ask your lover about Felassan and see what he tells you." Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest. "I think you'll find, Inquisitor, that Fen'Harel will resist answering your questions. He has sheltered you from the harsh truth of what it takes to be the Dread Wolf."

A cold tremor prickled Ellana's skin, making her shiver. Through gritted teeth she said, "I don't believe you. Why are you trying to turn me away from him?"

Morrigan's lopsided smile widened. "Isn't it obvious? I hope to steer Fen'Harel away from disaster."

"You said you know another way to restore the People," Ellana said, shifting her weight anxiously from foot to foot. "Dirthera," she commanded. _Tell._

Again Morrigan spread her arms, as if to envelope the Exalted Plains in a hug. "Dirthavaren, Inquisitor. The Broken Promise of the Dales. This is the land you must reclaim."

Ellana stared at her, feeling sweat under her breasts and along her back, her bladder still screaming to be emptied. "You're mad. The Dales are lost. We could not retake them even with every Dalish clan and every city elf united as one army. The humans would still outnumber us and they would slaughter us."

Morrigan raised one hand, as if to interject. "I did not suggest you and Fen'Harel retake the Dales in war—not exactly. 'Tis a far better plan to make the humans leave the Dales of their own volition."

"And how would we do such a thing?" Ellana asked, baffled.

Now Morrigan grinned. "We make them _want_ to keep their Broken Promise." She strode closer to Ellana's boulder, making her tense. "When you waken, suggest to Fen'Harel that perhaps he might consider removing the Veil in…pieces."

"In pieces?" Ellana repeated, blinking with shock. "Is that possible?" Her mind whirled, considering everything Solas had told her about the Veil over the last few weeks. It was magic itself, a sort of vibration that repelled the Fade. Creating it had taken enormous amounts of energy, far more than Solas could have channeled himself even as one of the Evanuris. His rebellion had raided the other Evanuris' holdings, claiming dozens of fully charged foci to provide fuel for it. Then they'd had to scatter them all over Thedas, a process that took years even with the help of the eluvian network. Beyond that Ellana knew little of the actual spell because she wasn't a mage herself.

"If Fen'Harel tells you it is not possible, will you believe him?" Morrigan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Pinching her lips together, Ellana refused to answer that question. Instead she asked, "How will removing the Veil in pieces help? And how would it allow us to reclaim the Dales?"

Morrigan snorted. "Surely you can see the value in being able to test something dangerous before expanding it. Do you dip a toe into steaming water to test it first or leap headlong into it without a thought to caution?" She sighed. "As to how this will aid you in reclaiming the Dales…I imagine you recall how terrified the good Andrastians were of the Fade rifts. When the Fade becomes part of the waking world once again they will flee at the sight of even peaceful spirits." She shook her head. "Humans are not prepared culturally or physically to comprehend a world where the Fade and reality are one. They will leave the Dales to Fen'Harel."

"And curse his name," Ellana said, scowling. "We have enough enemies, Morrigan."

An impatient look flared in Morrigan's eyes. "This is your only other option, Inquisitor. You will make enemies no matter what you do, but this way only hundreds will die rather than the thousands Fen'Harel will slaughter in the chaos of completely obliterating the Veil. An Elvhen homeland where the Fade and the waking world are one will create a place the humans will never invade, never destroy, while still leaving the humans room to flourish. And with one such as you to intervene politically on the People's behalf I am certain we can convince Thedas to give the elves their due. Initially some force may be required to scatter the more stubborn humans..."

"This is why you've helped Solas build an army," Ellana murmured, more to herself than to Morrigan—or Mythal, rather. Every Dalish clan they'd come across to recruit had Keepers ad Firsts who revealed they'd met Mythal in dreams and learned her champion was coming. Ellana had asked Solas about it after recruiting the Dalish clan around Hellathen Hamin, but he'd claimed he had not been in communication with Mythal. Ellana wondered now if "not being in communication" with Mythal included not killing Flemeth.

"Indeed," Morrigan replied, her smile sly. "But 'tis time you woke, Inquisitor. Remember our talk and Dirthavaren." With another broad gesture, Morrigan indicated the Exalted Plains, now swirling with the green mists of the Fade in the hollows and shadows. "I will speak with you again soon."

Ellana opened her mouth to bid Morrigan goodbye but found her throat closed and numb, unresponsive. Then the world tilted and went black, the plains vanishing. The babble of the river and the heat of the sunlight ceased and when Ellana inhaled next she smelled the musty odor of the great bear pelt Solas used as a blanket over their bedrolls.

Blinking, she saw the dim light of dawn had lit their tent. Her cheeks were chilly with the bite of the late autumn air, but warmth enveloped her inside the bedroll and beneath the pelt. Solas' breath puffed against the back of her neck and his hand lay on her waist.

Dread coiled inside her, a tight band that seemed to choke more air out of her with each breath when she considered her dream. It'd been too real, too vivid to be merely a dream. She didn't want to question Solas, didn't want to doubt him—but if it saved thousands of lives as Morrigan claimed Ellana knew she had to do it. And if he _had_ killed Flemeth, or was as ruthless as Morrigan wanted her to believe…

Something fluttered against her bladder, reminding her how badly she needed to empty it. Grateful for the distraction, Ellana pushed the thoughts aside.

Shivering in anticipation of the chilly autumn air, Ellana started crawling from under the pelt as quietly as she could, hoping to let Solas sleep. But she'd only gotten halfway out before he sucked in a breath and stretched, fingers catching her by the thigh.

"Vhenan?" he asked blearily. "Are you well?"

Her heart ached seeing his sleep-drugged face, innocent and redolent of the many nights they'd spent lost in the fever dream of lovemaking. Deciding her bladder could wait just a few more minutes, Ellana slipped back under the pelt. She snuggled close to him, absorbing his warmth like a dry sponge takes in water. "I'm fine, emma lath."

Solas made a little noise of satisfaction in his throat and caressed her back with one hand, his eyes drifting shut. "We will be with your clan soon." He smiled, the tenderness in it unmistakable. "I must admit, I worry they will not approve." His hand had moved to the slight mound of her belly.

The fluttering sensation came again against Ellana's bladder and she winced. "I never had a chance to send word before—" She stopped, concentrating inward as the fluttering changed position, seeming to roll. Realization hit her and she gasped, then laughed. "I can feel him!"

Solas had opened his eyes when she broke off, his brow furrowing with concern. But then he blinked, blue eyes focusing on her with alertness. "Our child is kicking?"

"I think so," she said, grinning. Gripping his hand, she guided him lower on her navel, hoping to let him feel it. The fluttering had eased off for the moment but she held her breath, hoping it would start up again. "He's been dancing on my bladder all morning and I just now realized what it was."

They waited in silence, Solas closing his eyes with a look of concentration on his face. Ellana felt the rolling sensation again, higher now, and moved his hand over it. "There. Do you feel it?"

He frowned and started to say, "No, I—" And then the flutter came again and Solas' eyes shot open, an expression of wonder transforming his features.

"You felt _that,_ " Ellana said, chuckling.

"I most certainly did," he confirmed, also letting out a lighthearted laugh before pressing forward to kiss her. His hand stayed on her belly, waiting for more kicks even as the kiss deepened and intensified.

As the baby pressed on her bladder again, Ellana reluctantly broke the kiss. "I really need to use the woods," she murmured, flashing an embarrassed smile.

"Ah," Solas said, grinning at her. "Of course." He flung the pelt off them both and sat up, helping her do the same. "I will accompany you."

She snorted at him, wrinkling her nose. "Solas, please. I think I can manage this alone." Solas had been increasingly protective of her, rarely letting her out of sight as the weeks passed, reminding Ellana more and more of overprotective husbands and fathers she'd seen in her clan. Considering his troubled past Ellana tried not to be irritable about it.

"Of that there is no doubt," he said as he grabbed his clothing from where he'd left it near the closed tent flap. "However, I also need to use the woods, as you put it."

"Oh," Ellana said, blushing as she pulled on her warm traveling clothes. She wore a loose tunic, foregoing a belt to avoid drawing attention to her midriff, and a coat with a fur-lined hood. She shivered as she pulled the tunic and coat on. The morning air left the fabric chilled. Autumn had definitely settled on the Free Marches. Soon frost would rime their tents.

As she saw Solas put on the black lacquered wolf jawbone, Ellana stiffened, recalling Morrigan's questions. "Is it possible to remove the Veil in pieces?" she blurted.

Solas twisted to stare at her, both eyebrows raised with obvious surprise. Then he paused, lips pinching together as he considered. "Yes," he said. "But it would be unstable. The entire Veil would fail, much like the Breach. It would spawn demons, too. I see little point—"

"Would there be no way to stabilize it? Confine it to one spot?" Ellana pressed. "Perhaps the artifacts we encountered while defeating Corypheus could be utilized to secure the edges—a little like hemming a frayed edge in fabric."

Surprise brightened his blue eyes. "Yes, that would be possible. But what do you hope to accomplish?"

"A test," Ellana said. "Like dipping a finger into a hot bath to make sure it isn't scalding. We should make sure removing the Veil won't cause any surprises."

"The Fade would need to be isolated as well," Solas murmured, his gaze unfocused as he considered it aloud. "Or the tear would never cease attracting demons and ripping spirits through." He gave a little huff and frowned. "I would need to walk physically in the Fade again."

"That's what the Anchor is for," Ellana reminded him, lifting her left hand and flexing it.

He frowned but said, "I will give this greater thought. For now we have more pressing matters." His smile was lopsided. "Such as visiting the woods."

"But you _will_ think about it, right?" Ellana asked.

Solas shot her an unreadable look, somewhere between curiosity and suspicion. "Of course, vhenan."

______________________________________

Wycome's walls reared on the hill far ahead. The city was on the high point of the local landscape, allowing for tactical advantage in a battle or siege. A few buildings lay scattered outside the city's walls—mostly inns, taverns, and shops. Knowing their party would likely attract attention, Solas had stayed in the protection of the forest some distance out, close enough to see the city and the road but far enough away that travelers and patrols wouldn't stumble upon their wilderness camp.

It was midmorning before Lyris and Mathrel returned from scouting a nearby tavern and reported exactly what Ellana and Solas had both feared—wanted posters with their likenesses offering an award from Chantry and Inquisition forces. Unfortunately Ellana's actions had drawn the ire of the humans as well, who already chafed at the elf-run council that'd been erected after the Duke of Wycome had nearly destroyed the city with red lyrium over two years ago. Ellana's Keeper had made no comments as to the charges against her, though the council had apparently condemned the apostate fugitive and spy, Solas, who'd supposedly abducted or enchanted her into leaving her own Inquisition.

Had Mythal visited Keeper Deshanna? And if she had, would clan Lavellan be able to follow without incurring the local humans' wrath?

"The city elves may be more open to us," Mathrel said as their group planned its next step. As always he spoke to Solas primarily, though his gaze often jumped to Ellana. After weeks traveling like this with Ellana at his side, Solas had struggled to come to a middle ground between his identity as Fen'Harel and the subservient companion Solas as he and Ellana adjusted to the changed power dynamic between them. When it came to recruiting the Dalish, Solas always deferred to Ellana's opinion.

Abelas shook his head, frowning. "The city elves will always be open to us. It is the clan we must focus on. Mythal will have visited them as she has with the others. We must find them before the memory of the dream diminishes."

Solas studied the sentinel leader out of the corner of his eye, his lips twitching downward on one side. Mysteriously, Mythal seemed to reach out to every clan they encountered, making them receptive to the Dread Wolf and calling for action. Abelas was a powerful mage, but Solas doubted he had the capacity to pose as Mythal. Could Mythal truly be reaching out from the Fade to support him? Solas clenched his jaw, unhappy with the loose ends here and certain there'd be a price or a trick somewhere soon if this was truly Mythal's work. He _needed_ to uncover and anticipate it.

"I agree with Abelas," Ellana said, the words carrying a tight edge.

Seeing her anxious expression made Solas smile at her, hoping to offer reassurance. "We will seek out clan Lavellan first," he announced. "Any idea where they may have made camp?"

He had to bite back the instinct to call her _vhenan_. Nervousness wormed in his own gut seeing the cream-white of her large coat, knowing it obscured the gentle swell of her belly. This was not their typical recruitment—it was personal. If they rejected Fen'Harel they'd likely outcast Ellana and their child with him. The idea of causing her that kind of pain made him burn with a frustrated rage and then alternatively feel heavy with shame. As usual, he was the cause of most of the misery that befell those closest to him.

"No," she answered, surveying the forest and then the road and the city far ahead. "But it will be near water. Close enough to the city that my Keeper will be able to make the journey easily for council meetings, yet far enough away that their sewage won't sicken the clan." She wrinkled her nose with disgust.

"A day's walk away at least, then," Lyris said, grinning at Ellana.

"Further," Ellana corrected her. "Deshanna will ride by halla, I expect."

"Deshanna?" Mathrel asked, scowling.

"My Keeper," Ellana explained. "But you should call her Keeper Istimaethoriel."

"It's a lot of ground to cover," said Darae, one of the sentinel elves with them. "Is there a chance we could learn from the shem-elves in the city where the clan is camped?"

Ellana let out a quick laugh and then sobered when everyone but Solas shot her quizzical looks. Solas cleared his throat and spoke for her, "Clan Lavellan will not have advertised its position. It would be foolish to do so, particularly after the events of two years ago when human bandits and corruption within Wycome nearly killed the clan."

Ellana smiled at him, nodding her approval. "I suggest we find the nearest freshwater source and search around it. Also, we should hunt and forage. We'll likely run across my clan's hunters."

"I do not like this idea," Mathrel said with a little irritable huff. His brown eyes narrowed at Solas. "We cannot risk them betraying us when they see you, Fen'Harel. They will recognize you as Solas, the fugitive apostate and spy on the city's wanted posters."

Ellana's face twisted with outrage. "My clan would never—"

"You do not know that," Mathrel interrupted her, shaking his head. His gaze was soft with sympathy as he said it, but the words were hard as steel. "You have been away for years."

Ellana turned her head, looking to Solas with her brow furrowed, troubled with doubt. As much as Solas wanted to assume clan Lavellan would welcome them readily simply because of Ellana's connection to them, he couldn't be certain. And, if the clan did prove hostile or decided to turn him and Ellana over to the humans, Solas would likely be forced to show the full extent of his power to escape again. Subterfuge was always preferable to open combat. One must never reveal his hand until absolutely necessary. And, although he had little fear of imprisonment or death at the hands of either Inquisition or Chantry forces, Ellana and his companions were vulnerable.

Averting his gaze from Ellana, Solas nodded to Mathrel to acknowledge his concerns. "I understand your doubts and share them, but I cannot approach this clan as I have the others." He didn't need to explain _why._ Everyone knew or suspected by now Ellana was with child and they had little chance of hiding it. This clan wasn't just another Dalish group to be recruited for the eventual slaughtering of demons to stabilize a restored world. It was…family?

The idea still left Solas heavy with trepidation. He'd inadvertently killed his real family long ago. Perhaps it'd be better for Ellana and her clan if he never contacted them.

Mathrel grunted with displeasure but didn't belabor the point. "Fen'Harel enansal."

"You will meet this clan as Solas?" Lyris asked, arching an eyebrow. "Will you not tell them what you truly are?"

Remembering Ellana's comment that morning, he shot her a little smile. "I believe it would be gentler on the clan and ourselves to test the waters first."

Her smile back at him was nervous but bright. "I agree."

"Then let us begin," Solas said and motioned to the others, dividing them into two groups. "Ellana, Darae, and Abelas will accompany me heading east. Lyris, Mathrel, Zaron, and Arina, you will head west around Wycome. We will return here at sunset."

______________________________________

It was only two hours of walking before Ellana spotted the first evidence of the clan—a snare along a game trail that Darae nearly stepped in. The sentinel elf seemed flustered when Ellana called out to her to freeze and scrambled to point out the delicate but strong rope vine curling away into the trees overhead.

"If you'd triggered it the snare would've strung you up by the leg," Ellana explained. "Walk around it, carefully."

"Is this to fight intruders?" Darae asked, her voice laced with irritation.

"No, it's meant to catch hares and deer—or wolves and foxes. Any sizable animal the clan might eat or use for its skin."

Darae sighed, her nose wrinkling with revulsion. "Barbaric."

Ellana bristled with outrage. "Excuse me?" She glared at the arcane warrior who, like the other highborn mages who'd served Mythal as sentinels, wore a shiny silver armor and a dark cloak. Like Lyris and Mathrel, Darae didn't seem to use a staff either, despite being a mage. In fact, Ellana hadn't seen Solas use a staff often since leaving the Inquisition. None of the arcane warriors seemed to need one—though they _did_ use a spectral blade like Vivienne had as a knight enchanter.

"Darae," Solas reprimanded, his voice deep with warning. "Athim." _Humility._ It was a command.

The sentinel shot Solas a glare and then looked to Abelas, who stood last in their file. Ellana saw him shake his head, brow furrowed. The message was clear and Darae capitulated.

"Ir abelas," Darae apologized, but the words were wooden and unfeeling. Her face still had the slight snarl of disgust plastered all over it.

Ellana's hands clenched into fists as she glowered at all three of the ancient elves, shoulders heaving as rage burned through her. This was what all of them likely thought of her people beneath their civility to her. Even Solas had been hostile toward the Dalish despite his own clear comfort with the deep wilderness and humble origin.

_Assuming he told you the truth of where he came from,_ a niggling voice whispered in her head.

"The next time you're about to step into one of my clan's _barbaric_ traps I'll let you," Ellana snarled at Darae. "That will teach you some _athim_ , lethallan."

Taking the lead, Ellana picked her way through the thick foliage, maneuvering with the ease of experience through the terrain despite the awkwardness of her large coat and expanded frame. The two sentinels lacked her grace and were noisier as they followed, but Ellana knew Solas was even quieter than her, moving with the surefooted confidence of his namesake, the wolf. Thinking of him seemed to make the baby start moving again, which cooled the anger inside her. Recalling the awe and affection she'd seen in Solas' face that morning as he felt their child kick blasted away her worries. Morrigan—or Mythal—was wrong about him and she'd been wrong to let them convince her to doubt him.

The forest around them was bright with a mixture of golden, yellow, and green leaves as the onset of autumn painted the trees. Rolling hills obscured much of the terrain ahead, but Ellana had spent more than enough time hiking to judge that they were traveling downhill gradually, which meant they'd likely run across a river soon. The clan preferred rivers to lakes because the water was fresher and better tasting.

As Ellana reached the base of one rolling hill, using the trunk or a nearby birch tree to steady herself on the slick grass and moss underfoot, her skin prickled with the sensation of someone else watching her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood erect and she stopped, straining her ears and searching the next hill and the depression. Behind her she heard Abelas and Darae moving, their armor clinking metallically and their booted feet crunching on the underbrush as they gradually made their way after her. As usual she didn't hear Solas until he was directly behind her.

"We are not alone, vhenan," he whispered behind her. She felt her skin tingle anew from the nearness of his magic and clenched her left hand as a mild spurt of pain lanced through it.

The sentinels had halted behind them as well, sensing trouble by the way Ellana and Solas had paused. Ellana could imagine how their group appeared to a lone hunter of her clan—the sentinels armed and in bright armor, she and Solas dressed in traveling clothes that disguised light armor of their own. They'd be a curiosity, but also a concern, and clearly not members of another Dalish clan and unlikely to be city elves as the sentinels bore Mythal's vallaslin.

"Aneth ara," Ellana shouted the friendly Dalish greeting used between clans, still searching the woods around them for whoever she'd sensed watching them. "We are peaceful."

A figure stepped into view from a thick bush atop the next hill, moving with the slow grace of all Dalish hunters. But as he moved into the dappled beams of afternoon sunlight streaming in through the canopy above Ellana's jaw dropped with recognition. "Negan?"

"Ellana?" he asked, quiet with shock. "Is that really you?"

"It's really me," she answered, grinning at the sight of her hunting master, still strong and unbowed despite his ever-increasing age. He had particularly long, pronounced ears, which had inspired his nickname among the hunters: Fennec. He was older than their Keeper and the clan Hahren or lore master, probably the oldest member of clan Lavellan now.

"Who are these strangers you travel with, da'len?" he asked her, frowning now. Ellana noticed he had his bow in one hand and his posture was stiff and alert. Despite revealing himself and recognizing her as a clan member Negan wasn't ready to trust her yet. Ellana didn't look around again but she guessed he wasn't alone.

Ellana turned slightly to indicate Solas. "This is Solas," she said and then motioned behind her to the sentinels. "My other companions are Abelas and Darae, servants of Mythal."

"Mythal'enaste," Negan said in greeting to the sentinels. He bore Andruil's vallaslin, which suited him well because Ellana had never seen anyone more proficient with a bow—even herself—until she met Sera. Even then, Ellana wished she could see Negan and Sera compete to be sure the old man wouldn't still prove the master.

"Will you take us to meet with Deshanna?" Ellana asked.

Negan's frown lines quirked as he made a face. "Forgive me, da'len. Deshanna left this morning for Wycome's council meeting. She will not return until tomorrow."

"Did Mahanon go with her?" Ellana asked, taking a few steps closer to Negan, deliberately ignoring the tension she felt from Solas. "I heard I'm an aunt. I'd love to meet my niece…"

Negan sighed, shoulder slouching. "These are troubling times, Ellana. The humans suspect us and their Templars have threatened to take away Nelora, our Second. There are…" He winced, looking away from her. "The humans say dark things of you and your apostate companion."

He'd recognized Solas then. Ellana steeled her spine and opened her arms in a sweeping motion to indicate the forest. "Are we bowing to the humans of Wycome now that my own kin will deny me?"

Negan shook his head. "Ellana, please. I know you understand the danger. It was only your Inquisition that saved us two years ago. Without you to lead them now they are likely to turn on us."

"That is why we have come, lethallin," Solas said, raising his voice with authority. Ellana shivered at it and sidestepped as he moved to stand next to her. "We will not sit idly by while the humans destroy your clan or the People. We bring news of Hellathen." _Noble struggle._

Negan shifted from one foot to the other, antsy. "Dangerous words, lethallin."

"They are but words," Solas responded. "There is rarely any danger in hearing them, and that is all we ask of your clan." He cast a sidelong glance at Ellana then and added, "And, of course, ma vhenan wishes to see her family again."

The term of endearment used in public made Ellana's blood surge with warmth. She smiled at him and felt the baby squirm as if he sensed her happiness.

Negan nodded, looking somewhat abashed. "Of course you are welcome with the clan, da'len. My concern was only that we cannot risk sheltering your companions for very long without risking Templar ire." He turned and called over his shoulder, "Nesa, you can come out now."

A young girl, barefaced and no older than ten, sprang out from the bush Negan had been hiding in, grinning and beaming with excitement. "Ellana," she yelled. "You've returned!"

"Look at you," Ellana said, gasping. "You're going to be as tall as your grandfather!"

Nesa charged down the hillside, slipping and sliding in her rush. She wore her black hair in a braid and had large, pronounced ears—an exact copy of Negan's. Ellana stooped slightly to be on the girl's level and grunted as Nesa collided with her.

Laughing erupted from Negan on the hill. "Come along now, Nesa. You'll have plenty of time to hug Ellana tonight."

Nesa released her hold around Ellana's shoulders but as she stood upright again the girl's hands snaked around her waist and held tight. In the unashamed, uninhibited way of the clan's children, Nesa felt over Ellana's abdomen, her mouth agape. "Are you growing a baby in there?" she asked.

Ellana's cheeks warmed and she ruffled Nesa's hair. Chuckling, she asked, "Hasn't the Keeper taught you any manners, da'len?"

"Ir abelas, hahren," Nesa intoned seriously and then grinned again—not sheepish at all despite Ellana's admonishment.

On the hill Negan watched her with a small smile, the way Ellana remembered her own father watching her before she'd left for the conclave. Negan had been as much a father to her as her own real father. The old hunter's gaze slipped to Solas for a moment, assessing him, but what he said aloud was, "Follow me. I will take you to the clan."

Nesa tugged on Ellana's hand as they set off through the forest, trailing Negan who set a swift pace in spite of his age. Crisp autumn leaves crunched beneath Ellana's feet and the refreshing scent of the woods pushed aside the anxiety knot and tension in her spine. Early after joining the Inquisition Ellana had suffered intense bouts of homesickness, finding herself overwhelmed by so many humans and all their unfamiliar faces and practices. Even the food and clothes were foreign. The sight of another elf, even one she assumed was just a flat-eared apostate—Solas—had been such a relief, even if he had unusual beliefs.

Over time the ache of that homesickness had faded with the rush of fighting for her life against Corypheus and she'd forgotten the charms of clan life. Falling in love, leading the Inquisition, engaging with the humans, and learning constantly of the world beyond her clan had made her past seem distant and small. Now the scent of the forest brought it back in a rush, making her lightheaded, her eyes heavy and burning with the threat of tears. How had she managed to survive over three years away from her clan?

After a few minutes of walking—in silence because even a child like Nesa understood the danger of attracting predators or enemies with chatter—Negan stopped atop a rocky outcrop and whistled. The birdcall was familiar to Ellana and she had to stop herself from repeating it back to Negan. The birdcall was the hunter's discreet announcement that he was entering another hunter's turf. The clan avoided friendly fire between hunters by establishing territories, the same way real predators would.

After a few moments another, slightly different call replied. Ellana recognized this one too and her heart clenched in her chest. She knew that particular whistle belonged to one hunter she knew very well—a snare-setter and warrior named Lerand.

Ellana's first lover, the man who'd nearly become her husband and bond partner.

Negan led them around the rocky outcropping that obstructed their path and into the depression below. The sentinels were noisy, drawing confused looks from Nesa as they dislodged dirt and clanked their armor with each step. Ellana could see the girl longed to question them, but she knew better than to speak without Negan telling her it was allowed. Silence was the first rule of the hunter. Solas shadowed Ellana but seemed at ease despite the storm she knew must be churning inside him. Her clan was unlike any of the others they'd visited for obvious reasons.

In the depression Negan led them in to the ground was loamy and moist, covered in moss. Ellana's feet sank into it with every step, muffling sounds. Even Abelas and Darae's footsteps were quieter now as Negan whistled the birdcall again. This time an answer came almost immediately and much closer.

"We will wait here for Lerand," Negan said, directing the words to Ellana's companions rather than her. "Speak freely," he said with a smile as he looked at her. "We are safe here."

"Why are you so loud?" Nesa asked the sentinels immediately, making a face. "Didn't your Keeper teach you to muffle your steps?"

Abelas and Darae stared at her, speechless, but Solas broke into a laugh. "An excellent question," he said after a moment.

Stifling her own laughter, Ellana tried to answer Nesa. "Abelas and Darae are warriors. It's hard to be quiet when you're wearing armor like theirs."

Nesa wrinkled her nose. "It's so shiny even a blind halla would see them coming."

"But it will stop an arrow," Abelas said, his expression sour. "And deflect most spells."

"Nesa," Negan scolded her. "You are being rude to Ellana's guests."

With a horrified look, Nesa bowed to Abelas and Darae. "Forgive me, hahren."

"There is nothing to forgive, child," Darae said gently. Despite her earlier grouchiness her eyes were soft as she watched Nesa. Solas had told Ellana that children were rare in Elvhenan, discouraged for multiple reasons. He'd told her Lyris and Mathrel had joined him after losing their daughter to Ghilan'nain's nobility and that such experiences were common. Now Ellana wondered if Darae had lost a child too with the way she looked at Nesa.

"What clan are you from?" Nesa asked them and tapped her forehead. "I like your vallaslin. I think I will choose Mythal too someday."

"We are not Dalish," Abelas replied, stiffly.

"Oh," Nesa said and then added, "I guess that's okay." Turning to Ellana the little girl's eyes widened. "Wait, Ellana—where are your vallaslin?"

"I…" Ellana cleared her throat, aware of Negan watching her. "I had it removed."

"Removed?" Negan asked, scowling. "Da'len, why would you do such a thing?"

"And how?" Nesa chimed in.

Ellana could almost feel Solas stiffening behind her, all amusement at Nesa's antics forgotten. The knot of anxiety in her own chest coiled tighter. "It's a long story," she said, opting to be evasive. "I'd rather not discuss it right now."

"Why not?" Nesa asked, perplexed.

"We will respect Ellana's wishes," Negan chided the girl in a somber voice.

Sighing theatrically, Nesa said, "Yes, hahren."

Then movement drew Ellana's eye as two more figures approached through the underbrush, nearly silent. They waved to Negan as they drew nearer and exchanged whistles again. Already Ellana's stomach was flip-flopping with nervousness, recognizing Lerand and his companion. When Lerand lifted his head and made eye contact he froze, his mouth agape with shock before he shouted her name. "Ellana!"

The blond-haired, brown-eyed warrior picked up his speed, outpacing his companion—his older brother—in his hurry. Lerand didn't stop until he was within arm's reach. "Ellana, is that really you? After all this time?"

She grinned, though she knew the expression would be tight with her anxiety. "Yes, Lerand, it really is me."

"Creators," Lerand said and laughed, reaching out and gripping her forearms. "I never thought you'd return." He grinned, handsome and mischievous. "You're more beautiful than ever—but what happened to your vallaslin?"

Solas shifted behind her but said nothing as Ellana felt herself blushing. "I—it's a long story."

"Restrain yourself, little brother," Samhel said, chuckling from slightly further away where he stood beside a smirking Negan and Nesa.

"Come now," Negan said and started walking again.

__________________________________

**Next Chapter**

Lerand greeted them both and then glanced to Solas again. "Pride and Sorrow?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "Do you two hate each other or what?"

Darae snorted with derision, glaring. Abelas ignored him as if he hadn't heard the question.

Solas, however, chuckled dryly. "How astute of you, da'len. Isn't it comforting to know that one's character may be accurately surmised from the meaning of his name alone?"

_____________________

Author note: For anyone trying to keep track, which I was while writing, I estimated Ellana's pregnancy to be about 18-20-ish weeks. This is typically the point at which first time mothers notice "quickening" i.e. fetal movement. More experienced mothers pick out fetal movement much sooner. So I'm letting everyone see she's at roughly halfway mark, but just to be blunt I'm also mentioning it here.


	18. Clan Lavellan Throws A Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clan Lavellan celebrates the return of its most famous hunter! Hilarity and heartwarming moments ensue. Oh, and sexy times. This is NSFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Slight trigger warning (rape/sexual assault) as Solas recalls his early life, where the nobility abuse the Tranquil-like slaves.***

Lerand sidled up to her, close enough that his arm could brush hers as they walked. "You must tell me everything, Ellana. We hear so many rumors but know so little." He paused then, his face twisting with grief. "I saw your father die," he murmured. "It was one of the first attacks. He cast a barrier over me to save me from the arrows the bandits fired—but not over himself. One of their arrows caught him in the shoulder and pierced the artery there." Lerand's voice hitched and he sucked in a breath. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Ellana answered, feeling her own grief settle on the anxious knot in her chest with an extra weight. "I wish there was more that I could've done."

"You saved us," Lerand said, the gratitude and sincerity in his brown eyes darkening them like rain clouds blocking the sunlight. "If you hadn't been there to protect us as Inquisitor we would've been wiped out. We all owe you our lives."

"I'm just glad I could help," she said and then suddenly found her eyes burning with tears. "You have no idea how much I missed all of you."

"But especially me," Lerand quipped, smirking.

"All of you," Ellana repeated, sniffing as she tried to compose herself. Her emotions were a blurred, messy mass of confusion. She drew in a deep breath and, seeking distraction, turned to indicate Solas and the sentinels. "Lerand, this is Solas."

"A pleasure," Lerand said, grinning. "Any friend of Ellana's is a friend of mine."

Solas nodded to the younger man, a polite smile on his lips, but didn't speak aloud before Ellana moved on to introducing the sentinels. "The warriors with us are Abelas and Darae."

Lerand greeted them both and then glanced to Solas again. "Pride and Sorrow?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "Do you two hate each other or what?"

Darae snorted with derision, glaring. Abelas ignored him as if he hadn't heard the question.

Solas, however, chuckled dryly. "How astute of you, da'len. Isn't it comforting to know that one's character may be accurately surmised from the meaning of his name alone?"

Ellana's long experience with Solas told her this seemingly friendly tone was actually a straight-faced sardonic reply. She shot Solas a withering look.

Lerand frowned. "I meant no offense." But after a beat he smirked. "Of course, isn't it funny that you'd be the one to answer and not Abelas?"

"No," Abelas shot back, scowling. "It is not, as you say, funny."

"All right," Lerand said with a sigh. "I take it back. I'm sorry." He looked to Ellana again and all sign of awkwardness or vanished as he returned to grinning. "I'm just so happy you've come back, Ellana."

"I am too," Ellana replied, though her own smile was tinged now with the tension she sensed from the less than friendly sentinels and her bristling lover. The baby moved again, a fluttering that suddenly made her bladder feel ready to burst. She ignored it, still focusing on Lerand as they continued walking, hoping she could make it to the camp without having to disrupt the journey to relieve herself. "But we have serious business to discuss with Deshanna when she returns."

"Of course," Lerand said, nodding. "But you're staying, right?" He gripped her forearm, edging close enough that she could feel his breath fan on her face. "You're not just visiting, right? We heard rumor that you left the Inquisition." Concern furrowed his brow. "We heard you were…abducted?" He shrugged, looking confused or cautious as he cast a quick glance at Solas and the sentinels.

Ellana snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Solas and I left because we had no other choice. The humans turned on him, arrested him as an apostate." She edged backward from Lerand slightly and he released his gentle grip on her forearm. "Negan said the Templars have been threatening the clan too. Is that true?" She laid a hand over her navel as she spoke unconsciously, thinking of the high likelihood that her child would almost certainly be a mage. Unless they restored the Fade to the waking world the humans would be able to threaten her child someday, too.

"Yeah," Lerand answered with a huff. "Deshanna's had Templars catch her in the city a couple times, and once they came around the clan camp once, asking about talented children." Anger clouded his features and roughened his voice. "We've always been allowed to have a First and Second, but in the last few weeks they've been threatening to take Nelora to a Circle."

"Outrageous," Solas snarled behind them, overhearing. "You must tell your Keeper to write to Divine Victoria. She will not tolerate Templars bullying your clan."

Lerand looked to Solas with an expression of surprised appreciation. "You think so?"

"Divine Victoria is a fair woman and she is…" Ellana broke off, feeling heavy again with sorrow. "Or was, I suppose, a good friend of mine."

"What happened?" Lerand asked, lips quirking downward with sympathy.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now," she said, averting her gaze to watch the forest and the other three members of her clan—Negan, Nesa, and Samhel—walking ahead.

The babbling song of water sang in Ellana's ears then as they descended another small hill and entered a clearing beside a sandy riverbank. The water itself was clear and immediately made Ellana's mouth fill with saliva, longing to drink it. There was never enough good water to drink while traveling. The water from their canteens usually tasted stale. Spindleweed and blood lotus dotted the shore on both sides and Ellana saw another familiar figure across the water, kneeling in the sand and plucking the herbs.

"Ah," Lerand said. "Look who it is."

"Rinaya," Ellana shouted and waved to the woman.

The brunette lifted her head and stared across the river with an incredulous look. "Ellana?" she asked, getting to her feet. A slow grin spread over her face then and she let out a little shriek of excitement. "Don't cross here," she called and pointed off to Ellana's right, further upriver. "The current's stronger than it looks."

Ellana would've trotted along the riverbank to keep up with Rinaya but Negan and the rest of her party seemed in no hurry—and at any rate, sudden movement was uncomfortable now with the baby being bigger. A short ways upriver and around a bend where the banks were steeper they found Rinaya beside a small rope bridge. She rushed forward, embracing Ellana and nearly knocking her over just as Nesa had. Rinaya's laughter was contagious and soon Ellana found herself joining in until tears streamed down her face.

When they parted, still holding each other, Rinaya sniffled, also crying. "I was so worried for you," she said, her blue eyes glistening with more unshed tears. "Deshanna said the humans told her you betrayed the Inquisition, that they're hunting you. I thought you'd be dead!"

"I'm very much alive," Ellana said, blinking more tears. She pulled Rinaya into another hug.

Lerand began the introductions before they'd finished embracing. "Rinaya, meet Solas, Abelas, and…" He grunted, suddenly embarrassed as he asked Darae, "What was your name again?"

The sentinel woman heaved a sigh and ignored him, speaking to Abelas and Solas instead. "May I suggest I return to our camp to let the others know we've made contact with the clan?"

"An excellent idea," Solas said. "Abelas, go with Darae. Ellana and I will stay with the clan tonight. Meet us tomorrow afternoon with everyone at this point and we will speak together with the Keeper."

"You're all welcome to stay with us," Negan offered, his voice scratchy and hoarse with age. He cleared it, spitting off into the underbrush.

Seeing it, Ellana sobered, a little spasm of alarm cutting through her chest. "Are you unwell, hahren?" she asked him. She didn't miss the way Rinaya's lips pinched and her gaze darkened at Ellana's question.

"Grandpa's fine," Nesa said with a shrug.

Negan nudged her toward the rope bridge. "Why don't you go on ahead of us with Samhel and let Mahanon and the hearth keeper know we're coming?"

"Do I have to?" Nesa whined. "Can't Lerand and Samhel go instead?"

"Come along, do as your grandfather says," Samhel said, striding along the sandy riverbank and snatching the girl's hand, walking her to the bridge.

As soon as Nesa was out of earshot, Negan answered Ellana's question. "I'm dying, da'len."

Ellana let out a little sound of alarm, her throat aching at his words. "Are you sure? Is there some medicine we could—"

"The healer says it's incurable," Rinaya put in, her head and shoulders drooping. "A slow wasting of the lungs."

Negan's expression was calm and serene as he shrugged. "Do not be sad, Ellana. It is the way of the world. The old must make way for the young." Now he smiled and Ellana knew he was thinking of her own baby.

Solas murmured something unintelligible and in elven, making the others and Ellana glance in his direction, but he had already turned away to speak to Abelas and Darae. "Return to our camp. Ellana and I will remain here."

"As you say, hahren," Abelas said with a nod, his lips set in a hard, grim line as he and Darae turned on their heels and took off back down the riverbank.

After they'd left Ellana searched over Negan's face, biting her lip as she tried to contain her sorrow. "How much longer do you have?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

"The healer doubts I will survive the winter," Negan answered with a small, sad smile before shaking his head. "But this is not a day for sorrows. This is a time of celebration."

Lerand was at her side then, locking elbows with her and motioning to the rope bridge. "If you'll follow me, Lady Inquisitor," he said, grinning. "I'm sure we can find your mother somewhere around here."

With Rinaya leading now, Ellana crossed the rope bridge, though the swaying of it made her head spin. Halfway across she had to slow her pace, gripping tighter to both Lerand and the robe bridge. The sound of the rushing river roared in her ears and she groaned.

"Ellana?" Lerand asked, patting her forearm. "What's wrong?"

Solas, who'd followed close behind as usual, pressed forward and overtook them. Ellana felt his arm snake around her waist as he ducked under her other arm. "Vhenan," he said, his voice tender with concern. "Are you well?"

"I can manage," she said, groaning again. "It's just the swaying." She noticed Lerand's unreadable, wary expression as Solas took most of her weight on his shoulder and with his other hand at her waist, helped her move ahead. After a few steps Lerand fell behind them, letting Solas have her to himself.

On the far side they met Rinaya who watched Ellana with a new, knowing look, though she said nothing. At Ellana's insistence Solas released her, though he stayed close, ever her shadow. Lerand joined them, a sheepish set to his features now and his posture closed with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Are you sick, Lana?" he asked, using her childhood pet name, an unsubtle reminder of how long he'd known her.

"I'm fine, just a weak stomach." Ellana sighed and scrubbed at her face, fatigue weighing down her shoulders along with the continued sorrow of learning Negan had so little time left—not to mention the loss of her father. She didn't need Lerand moping to dampen the joy of her homecoming. The fact that she was the Dread Wolf's lover would do that for her soon enough.

"You?" Lerand asked, chuckling. "Weak stomach? Weren't you the _only_ one who didn't puke that time the healer made us go look for dragon glands in that half-rotted high dragon corpse?"

The memory of that adventure, particularly of the putrid smell, made Ellana's stomach churn now. She clutched her belly with one hand. "Lerand, shut up before I vomit all over my coat."

From behind her Ellana felt Solas caress her back as he asked Lerand and Rinaya, "Do you perhaps have any tea? I have some ginger that may help."

"Our hearth keeper always has a pot on the fire," Rinaya said with a nod. "We're almost to camp, Ellana. Whenever you're ready."

Sucking in a few deep breaths, Ellana straightened up. "I'm ready. It passes quickly."

Rinaya smirked. "I remember." She started walking out of the clearing and into the forest along a well-worn path. Ellana and Solas followed her with Lerand and Negan taking up the rear.

"Remember what?" Lerand asked, directing the question far ahead toward Ellana and Rinaya, sounding confused.

No one answered him as the group made their way through a narrow section of forest before entering a mostly flat clearing where the clan's aravels waited, arranged in a rough circle around the center campfire. Halla grazed at the opposite end of the clearing, their shepherd and his apprentice watching over the animals. The smell of wood smoke set that nostalgic ache twisting inside Ellana again for the umpteenth time.

She found Solas' hand and gripped it, squeezing. "I wish we could stay here," she whispered, unsure if he'd hear it.

"We will, vhenan," Solas answered, also whispering. "For now and as long as we can—as long as you wish. I will reveal nothing to your clan until you are ready."

She was about to reply to him when a middle-aged woman trotted out from around the nearest aravel and the sight of her stole Ellana's breath. "Mamae!" she cried and, heedless of how uncomfortable it was, jogged to meet her mother. They threw their arms around each other, laughing and sobbing at once.

With her heart pounding away like a fist against her breastbone and her throat burning—both with emotion and what was probably going to be heartburn—Ellana was breathless as her mother kissed her cheeks repeatedly, the same way she had when she was a child. Ellana's mother had hazel eyes, more tinged with green than brown, a color that made her think of high summertime, when the earth was at its most generous and fertile. Gray streaked her hair more now than Ellana remembered from before she'd left for the conclave, but otherwise she was still strong with few wrinkles despite a lifetime spent foraging under the sun. Ellana's mother was one of the clan's healers, the longtime first apprentice to Lavellan's actual healer, a woman nearly as old as Negan.

Ellana's mother clucked her tongue when they'd both caught their breath and wiped at Ellana's tears. "I missed you so much," she said, laying a hand over her heart. "We heard so little of you, just rumors and stories."

"I'm here now, mamae," Ellana said, clenching her jaw to avoid another outburst even as the pleasure-pain of the reunion seemed to swell out of control in her chest. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to visit or write often."

"I think we can forgive you, Lana," her mother said with a joyful laugh. "You were only busy saving Thedas after all." She cupped Ellana's cheeks then, a frown of confusion warping her face. "Where are your vallaslin?"

"I had them removed," Ellana answered, the words catching in her throat and coming out hoarse.

"What?" her mother gasped. As if she didn't believe Ellana she began brushing her fingers over her forehead, as if hoping to expose the tattoos hidden beneath makeup. "How could you do such a thing?"

Ellana gripped her mother's hands on her cheeks and sighed. "Please, mamae, it's a long story and I'd rather not tell it now."

"Of course," her mother said and pulled her into another hug. When they parted Ellana's mother immediately gestured to Solas. "And who is this, Lana?"

Solas had lingered behind Ellana as usual, quiet and unobtrusive. He wore a small smile on his lips, his blue eyes pinched with warmth. "I am Solas. I presume you must be Ellana's mother." He dipped his head in an exaggerated nod to show respect. "I am honored to finally meet you."

"Such manners," her mother crooned, grinning. "I am Ashani. First to our healer." She smirked as she looked to Ellana. "And mother to the Inquisitor, or so they tell me."

Ellana's shoulders slumped as she sighed, averting her gaze from both Solas and her mother. "I'm not Inquisitor anymore, mamae." She shrugged with defeat. "Now I'm just Ellana."

Her mother smiled, her face bright with love, and hugged her again. "That's always been enough for me, darling."

A crowd of elves had gathered, watching with grins or looks of shock as Ellana and Solas as Negan, Rinaya, and Lerand returned to the circle of aravels. Ellana found herself inundated by the sea of familiar faces, all slightly changed from when she'd last seen them over three years ago and all of them clamoring to hear what she'd gone through or to understand how and why she'd lost her vallaslin. Soon her cheeks hurt from smiling and her throat was a nonstop ache of emotion, her eyes gritty and dry from outbursts of tears she seemed to have no control over.

And then she spotted Rinaya coming through the crowd with her brother, Mahanon, at her side and in his arms was a tiny child, somewhere between baby and toddler. Choking on her own joy, Ellana moved to them and found herself staring at her niece for the first time.

"Welcome home, little sister," Mahanon greeted her, moisture glinting in his hazel eyes, the same color as their mother's. "I'd like to introduce Deya." He twisted his body around, encouraging his daughter to see Ellana. "Say hi, little one. This is your Aunt Lana."

The tiny girl blinked her round, innocent eyes up at Ellana. The sight of the bright green made Ellana gasp. "She has Father's eyes."

"And his hardheadedness," Mahanon said with a laugh. "A lot like someone else I know." He pulled her into a half-hug with his other arm. Deya squirmed against Mahanon's chest, twisting to reach out so she could snatch Ellana's hair, then she squealed with excitement, showing her gap-toothed grin.

"Uh oh." Rinaya helped extricate Deav's fingers from Ellana's hair as the family laughed. "See? She only just met you and she already won't let go."

In those blissful few moments Ellana could forget this wasn't a real homecoming, but the moment proved short lived. When Deya grasped her finger Ellana felt her skin tingle at the child's touch. Immediately her smile fell as she saw both Rinaya and Mahanon had noticed it as well.

"She'll be a mage," Ellana said, the words hoarse and difficult to speak around the lump of emotion in her throat. The clan already had the maximum number of mages allowed by Templars. That meant someone would have to leave the clan, and usually it was the youngest child who'd be traded away or even given to a Circle. As if that weren't bad enough, Ellana also knew Deshanna would discourage Mahanon and Rinaya from having other children for fear they'd have more mages the clan could not raise.

Mahanon wrapped his other arm around Deya and kissed the side of her fuzzy, brown-haired head. "Yes," he murmured. "And she's still so young she's sure to be stronger than me, Lana. More like Father." His chin wrinkled as pride and grief warred visibly on his face.

Anguish and anger made her blood run cold, then hot. Glancing over her shoulder, out of the throng of familiar faces who watched her with smiles or awe, Ellana saw Solas beside one of the aravels, waiting patiently. The nervous knot in her stomach coiled tighter as she faced her brother and his fledgling family, her hands clenching into fists. "The Dread Wolf take the Templars and the Circles. Solas and I have come with news of an uprising. Of rebellion. We have no reason to fear the Fade or mages. Magic is a gift to the People and we must be free to embrace it."

"We are few, Lana," Mahanon reminded her, shaking his head. "Rebellion will only give the humans what they want—a reason to crush us."

"There's a way," Ellana insisted, shaking with the fierceness of her resolve. "When Deshanna returns from Wycome we will tell you everything."

Mahanon's hazel eyes narrowed, searching her. "I have had strange dreams, Lana. I thought them just vivid dreams or tricks of the Fade but…" He shifted Deya higher in his arms and gazed around the gathered clan. "Something's coming, isn't it? You are not the first to speak of rebellion."

"Something is coming," Ellana said, nodding solemnly. "That's why Solas and I are here."

Deya squealed then, reaching out for Rinaya and babbling, "Mamae! Mamae!" Rinaya took the child from Mahanon, hugging her tight though Deya had other ideas as she immediately began digging at her mother's clothing, trying to reach her breasts.

"I think Deya has the right idea," Mahanon said, chuckling as he raised his voice to speak to the rest of the clan. "It's dinnertime and we have reason to celebrate!"

The clan cheered and whistled, grinning and scattering to prepare for the coming meal. As the rest of the clan went to work, Mahanon laid a hand on Ellana's shoulder, his smile hard and somber. "We'll discuss whatever news you've brought tomorrow after Deshanna returns, Lana."

Ellana gripped his hand on her shoulder, swallowing to try and clear the painful lump still lodged in her throat. "Mahanon, what I have to say will be difficult to hear. Whatever happens—whatever Deshanna decides, I just want you to know I will always love you. I will always fight to protect our clan and our people." She blinked, feeling tears spill down her cheeks. "And I'm thrilled to have met Deya. You should be proud."

"I am," he said, grinning as he brushed away her tears with one knuckle. Then, after staring behind her for a moment—likely at Solas—Mahanon leaned closer and murmured, "Nesa has been running around camp saying you are with child. Is it true?"

She laughed, though it was thick with tears. "That girl." She laid a hand over her belly through the coat. "I didn't expect I'd have to discuss it so soon—but yes."

"We can give you asylum, Lana, but at great cost to ourselves. The humans despise us for having any power over them at all. Templars visited the camp in the summer. The next time they come I fear Deya will be strong enough they will sense her and take her away." His eyes slid again to stare behind her. "Your partner…" He sighed, his brow furrowing. "He is wanted as a fugitive—more than you. And he's a powerful mage. I can feel his magic from here."

_You have no idea,_ Ellana thought and let out a choking laugh. "I know. We could never stay here very long without endangering you all." She shook her head. "I'm sorry." She gazed into his eyes, managing to smile though she knew it wavered. "We shouldn't worry about any of this until tomorrow when Deshanna returns."

"Of course," Mahanon said, his smile bright as he nodded to her. "We have much to celebrate tonight."

__________________________________

The innocence of the Dalish always reminded Solas of his earliest recollections from his childhood. After harvests or bonding ceremonies or the birth of a child, Solas' village had celebrated much as clan Lavellan did now—with food and wine, singing, dancing and storytelling. Yet Solas' village had used magic in most of it, which made preparing meals simpler and enhanced stories with images cast by the teller. Songs were richer, the food was better, and the wine could be centuries old and enchanted with emotion or sensations.

But there was one thing the Dalish didn't do that made them _better_ than his village, his parents, and all of Elvhenan: there were no slaves here, or even servants for that matter. His own village had used slaves and servants to cleanup after such celebrations, to serve food and drink, and sometimes for far worse things. A servant, despite being free of the compulsion of vallaslin, could still find herself coerced by social manipulation or magic of some kind into laying down for a depraved noble in an alley. Slaves of course had no chance of escaping whatever cruel whims the middle class, nobility, or even servants had in mind. Solas' parents had turned a blind eye to such abuses even as they abhorred them.

But Solas had opted for a different path when, after the celebration of a new birth among the middle class, he stumbled on a middle class man from another village raping a slave woman. On that night, horrified and enraged, he first used his magic to kill. He'd been little more than a child, barely old enough to understand what he'd seen, yet burning the much older, more experienced man into a crisp had been easy once he let rage take him. Unfortunately, in his inexperience, Solas killed both rapist and victim. And he'd set fire to several buildings, inadvertently covering up his own actions in the blaze that followed.

His family and the village blamed the fire and the deaths on the dead man, assuming the drunkard cast a fire spell after passing out. Though the tenacity and size of the fire baffled everyone. How had it grown so big, so fast? And why did it resist magical efforts to put it out?

Solas never revealed the truth, but to his dying day he knew he'd remember the slave's face, twisted with pain though her eyes were glazed. She _felt_ , she _lived,_ but she was trapped inside the cage of her own skull, powerless to fight with the compulsion of vallaslin binding her. The horror of it had never left him and eventually drove him to become the Dread Wolf.

How ironic that the Dalish's innocent celebration had been exactly what he fought for and yet they remembered him as a monster—like the man Solas had killed that night.

Trying to distract himself from his dark memories, Solas drank very little wine and took to listening and watching Ellana's clan, trying to enjoy the present rather than tumble back into his past. The people of the clan all knew one another intimately, and most of them were distant cousins. As the lone outsider, Solas found himself both a source of curiosity and suspicion. Elders and children alike stopped to talk to him, sometimes to learn more about him, but mostly it was to welcome him by sharing stories of the clan. Ellana joined him periodically, but spent most of her time with her immediate family. Whenever another clan member wasn't speaking to him, Solas stared across the camp, finding Ellana smiling and laughing with her family. The sight made his chest ache, restarting the memories of his own lost family back in a time millennia ago when he'd been as innocent as clan Lavellan.

And then, after hearing humorous tales about Ellana and clan life from half a dozen people, Solas found himself greeting a drunken, slurring Lerand. The blonde youth—Solas had to keep reminding himself that his desire to call him _boy_ was a result of his own irritation with this warrior who'd clearly been involved with Ellana in the past—carried a flask of wine and grinned toothily. He extended the flask out to Solas, offering him a drink.

"Pride," he said and sniggered. "Wanna drink? Ashani gave me the _good_ stuff. From Antiva."

"Thank you for the offer," Solas replied with a polite smile. "But I must decline. I prefer to keep a sharp mind and I have already had more than enough for one evening."

Without being asked, Lerand took a stumbling step closer and then dropped unceremoniously onto the halla hide Solas was sitting on beside one of the aravels. He took a quick swig of the leather bound flask and then pushed it at Solas again. "Really, you should drink. You should be celebrating." He hiccupped and grinned at Solas. "Heard you're gonna be a _father."_

"Yes," Solas confirmed with a slow nod and small smile. "In the spring."

Lerand tipped his head back and let out a groan. "She was s'post to be mine, you know," he said and chuckled. "We had some good times, we did."

"I'd prefer if we did not discuss this," Solas said, scowling as he cast quickly for another subject. "Do you have any interest in—"

"What is _wrong_ with you, Pride?" Lerand asked, slurring. He turned his head, staring at Solas through surprisingly sharp—if a little glassy—brown eyes that reflected the orange flicker of the fire. "Lana says you're not bonded. _Fenedhis,_ I killed a _bear_ for her once and she didn't want me."

Sighing, Solas quashed his initial desire to scold Lerand for the personal question and instead ignored him, staring at Ellana where she sat with her niece on her lap and her brother chatting to her. Both of them were grinning with joy. Ashani, Ellana's mother, was stooped in front of Ellana on her hands and knees, playing with Deya. Even from a distance he could see the resemblance in the family to one another. Ashani had given Ellana the pump heart-shape of her lips and mother and son shared the same nose and eye color. Deya, surprisingly, resembled Ellana a great deal. Solas had never had extended family before as both of his parents had been single children, as was typical in Elvhenan's middle and upper classes. Now he wondered if he would've seen similarities between himself and distant family members. Perhaps an aunt or uncle that'd never been born could have also turned out as one of the Evanuris?

"You wanna hear bout the time I killed a bear?" Lerand asked and then launched into the story unprompted. "So the clan was south of here by a couple weeks' journey and the whole place was overrun with _bears._ Mythal's mercy, you couldn't go anywhere without seeing one—or ten." He broke off, laughing a moment and taking another quick swill from his flask. "Anyway. Ellana was Negan's 'prentice then, like fourteen. And we snuck out to go kill one of these bears so she could get her vallaslin. See, I got mine that year. I was almost sixteen but I thought she could do it. She's a great shot with a bow—"

"I know," Solas interrupted. "I've fought alongside Ellana for over three years now." He frowned at himself, irritated that he'd fallen into a trap of justifying how well he knew Ellana to her old lover or betrothed or…whatever they'd been to each other.

"Yeah," Lerand said, unfazed by Solas' addition as he continued his tale. "And then the plan was we'd do the bonding ceremony right away once she had her vallaslin. Too bad Fehorn caught her trying to leave. He was a good First and as pure as a halla but _fenedhis_ could he get _mad!"_

Solas placed the name Lerand had mentioned as Ellana's father, killed two years ago by the "bandits" that'd attacked the clan on the Duke of Wycome's command. Despite himself, Solas perked up at the chance to discuss Ellana's father. "Tell me, I've heard Ellana's brother say that their father was a more powerful mage than him and he suspects—"

Lerand snorted. "Creators, Fehorn made Mahanon look like a nug beside a halla. Ah no, please don't tell Mahanon I said that, but 's true." He looked at Solas, plaintive even through his drunkenness.

Smirking with amusement, Solas said, "Your secret is safe with me, but please, continue. What else do you know about Ellana's father?"

"Fehorn was traded in from another clan before I was born. Cuz Deshanna's kids weren't gifted." He shifted, pointing one hand out clumsily to indicate a middle-aged man currently singing with Negan and several others. "See him? He's Deshanna's son. And Negan is Deshanna's brother and the guy next to—"

"How long could Fehorn cast before reaching mana burnout?" Solas asked, interrupting Lerand. "How did his magic first manifest? Flames? Ice? Spirit?"

"I dunno. All of it?" Lerand drank again and groaned. "My head is spinning."

_Very helpful,_ Solas thought and just managed not to roll his eyes. He reached over and took the flask from Lerand's hand. "I think you've had enough of this, da'len."

"Fen'Harel's balls," Lerand grumbled, glaring glassy-eyed at him.

Solas cringed at the curse. "Excuse me?"

"Why do you call me da'len? You can't be that old, not old enough to be my father—maybe thirty-five?" Lerand hiccupped again, squinting as if he could read the answer from Solas' face. "Didn't know she liked 'em older."

Solas searched the camp, desperate for a way to escape the conversation and saw Ellana watching him with an anxious expression on her face. _Ah, excellent_.

Passing the flask back to Lerand, Solas feigned a smile. "If you'll excuse me, da—" He stopped himself and said, "Lethallin. I must be going."

Lerand followed Solas' gaze and groaned, slurping as he drank yet again from the flask now that he had it back. "I remember _going_ with her…you're so _lucky…_ " He broke off, halfway collapsing as he bumped his head on the aravel behind him. "Fenedhis—ouch. Where in the great beyond did this aravel come from?"

As Solas rose to his feet and made his way around the fire he saw Ellana extricating herself from a sleepy Deya, passing the girl to her mother. When she got to her feet she wobbled slightly and Solas rushed to grasp her, supporting her. "Vhenan—are you all right?"

"Just tipsy," she replied smiling as she caressed his cheek. "Why don't you join us?"

"I did not want to interfere or draw you away from your family," he replied honestly. He felt the weight of the clan's eyes on him, despite the ongoing songs, musical instruments, and laughter. Tomorrow evening would they curse this night as a trick of the Dread Wolf, trying to seduce them all away using Ellana?

She jerked her chin in Lerand's direction, smirking. "Do I want to know what he was saying to you?"

Solas laughed and shook his head. "He mentioned something about killing a bear for you."

"Ugh," Ellana groaned and pulled him closer, pressing her head to his chest. "Please tell me he was too drunk to get to the part where my father made us clean and dry halla dung for six months."

Solas laughed again. "He was, as a matter of fact, too drunk to finish the tale. But now I find myself wanting to hear it."

She raised her head, grinning. "Dread Wolf take me first." He tensed despite the playful gleam in her eye, aware that her brother, mother, and sister-in-law were nearby and _might_ overhear. But before he could reply or pull away Ellana snatched his hand and tugged him with her—but not toward her family as he'd expected. She led him toward the nearest gap between the aravels, pausing to grab a pelt from inside one of them. Behind them Solas heard cheering and ululating that was vaguely sexual. Throughout the evening he'd seen couples split off into the darkness after kissing or embracing near the fire—an entirely expected occurrence at any Dalish clan—but Ellana's clan was unabashed in _encouraging_ those who left with cheers.

He might've been embarrassed or worried about how this would affect their discussion with the Keeper the next day, but the sight of Ellana beaming, smelling of food and wine and fire awakened a primal hunger inside him. When she'd found the pelt she'd been looking for inside the aravel and turned round to take his hand again Solas was already there. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him and kissed her, uncaring that the orange firelight still danced over them, meaning more than a few clan members could see them.

Ellana's hands snaked up his back, her breath picking up and her lips parting for him. Deepening the kiss, he swept his tongue into her mouth, tasting her and finding the lingering flavors of her meal and the wine she'd had. She pressed her hips to him, arching her back. The small bump of her belly against him set his heart pounding, his body burning for her at the reminder of past pleasures and the new life they'd created. Knowing she carried his child had only increased his appetite for her, especially as her condition grew increasingly apparent.

Breaking the kiss, Solas nibbled at her ear and her neck aggressively, grinning against her skin when she shivered. "Where should I take you, vhenan?" he teased.

"Fenedhis," she cursed, gasping before he kissed her again, hungrily. Then she pulled back, her eyes reflecting the dancing orange light of the fire. "Follow me."

"I am yours to command," he purred, low and husky.

_________________________________________

Gripping his hand, Ellana led him out into the darkness, the crisp autumn grasses rustling and crunching underfoot. Halla milled about in the darkness, some sleeping standing up while others lay curled like fawns. Nesa and a few other adolescents stood watch over the halla while the adults celebrated. One of them—in the dark Ellana couldn't be sure who—let out the playful lover's call, a teasing sound meant as a blessing on couples. The clan had yet to recover its full numbers after the bandit attacks so new children were more than welcomed, they were encouraged.

The only downside to clan life was the lack of comfortable beds. The aravels were mainly for transporting goods, not for sleeping. The clan would set out tents or other movable, temporary structures for warmth in the winter, but during high summer or any night that was warm enough they slept out under the stars. That meant lovers did too, in whatever private and preferably dry spot they could secure. But Ellana was no stranger to midnight romps in a bedroll and neither, she knew, was Solas.

At the edge of the clearing she stopped and spread out the blankets she'd taken from the aravel. Solas didn't make the task easy, distracting her as his hands roved over her from behind and his hot breath fanned out over her neck only to be followed by his kisses. She groaned as her skin dimpled and a shiver passed through her. The night air was brisk away from the fire but she still began opening her coat and fumbling with her other clothing as Solas continued nibbling at her neck and her ear.

"The ground, vhenan?" he asked, chuckling low and playful. "I have a better idea." Wrapping his arms around her, Solas stilled her hands and motioned with his chin to a tree a few meters away that had grown with a split near the base that formed a V-shape. "Sit."

She shivered and made a noise of anticipation in her throat, guessing what he had in mind. "You never disappoint, emma lath."

Laughing, Solas released her, but not before one hand caught her rear and squeezed. Ellana gasped, laughing as she grabbed the blankets from the ground and sauntered to the tree, feeling his eyes on her, his hunger a palpable thing—as was her excitement. At the tree she faltered, unsure where to place the blanket, but Solas took over. Wrapping the pelt around her shoulders, he asked, "How am I to kiss you as you deserve with your breeches in the way?"

She grinned, purring her answer, "Mm, let me fix that problem for you." With him holding the pelt around her Ellana was able to reach down between them, but instead of gripping her own clothing she found his erection with both hands and squeezed. He let out a jagged breath through clenched teeth.

"I seem to have found your staff," she murmured, then laughed.

"I have no need of it yet," he said throatily and then kissed her, breathing fast. Pressing closer, he backed her into the tree, using her body to pin the pelt in place so he could free his hands. His fingers were cold at her waist as they dug at her belt, unfastening it with the ease of long practice. Ellana shivered, using one hand to help him while the other grabbed at the blanket to try keeping the chilly night air at bay.

When her pants were around her ankles Solas broke the long, sloppy kiss between them and grinned lasciviously. "Sit back, vhenan."

She half sat, half stumbled into the seat of the V-shaped tree trunk, her heart pounding and her blood pumping hot through her as he knelt between her legs. Her skin quivered at his caress, both from the slight chill of his fingers and the gentle, blunt nails he trailed along the inside and underside of her thighs. She gripped the right side of the tree trunk while her left hand kept the pelt around her for warmth. Her muscles snapped taut with anticipation as she felt his hot, moist breath on her sex, but he veered away to kiss and nibble along her thigh, teasing her as he always did.

"Solas," she moaned his name, aching for him and unable to think as he teased her again only to switch his kisses to the other thigh. "Solas, please…"

As if her entreaty had convinced him, Solas' mouth moved to her sex, his lips and tongue scalding on her sensitive flesh. He started slow, with gentle flicks of his tongue against her, each movement sending a zinger of pleasure through her. Ellana writhed, trying to keep herself from crying out as the pleasure spiraled inside her, but pregnant sex always had her on the edge, inches from toppling over the precipice. It was too much and she didn't have the self-control to hold back her moans as he changed tactics, growing more aggressive as he caressed her with more pressure and longer strokes.

When he sucked gently she gasped and cried out, the climax hitting her suddenly, making her entire body convulse and shake. Solas didn't stop swirling his tongue over her and Ellana bucked her hips as the pleasure twisted, as intense as fire licking up through her, consuming her from within. Before she knew what had happened another orgasm hit, waves of pleasure washing over her and stealing her breath away as she cried out wordlessly.

Panting and with her mind thick from pleasure, she couldn't form words or think as Solas stood up, a smug smirk on his face. Seeing his desire, still trapped inside his pants, Ellana grinned at him and reached for his waist to free his arousal. Solas edged closer to her, the warmth of his body warding away the frigid night air and already restarting the frantic pulse within her. As soon as she'd freed his erection, Ellana guided him inside her.

He groaned, shuddering over her, clinging close. His lips nuzzled her neck and then her ear, his breath puffing hot against her skin. "Vhenan," he whispered in her ear, "I doubt I can hold out long."

She moaned, already feeling the slick heat of pleasure building again. "Then that makes two of us."

Moaning, he rocked his hips, grinding against her inside and out, watching her face as he picked up speed. She kissed him, sucking on his lips, uncaring that she could taste herself on him. She arched her back; meeting his increasingly fast thrusts with her own growing need, feeling the pleasure spiraling until it exploded.

Crying out through gnashed teeth, she rode the waves of bliss as they shuddered through her for the third time and heard Solas grunt as his own climax hit. He gasped against her neck, panting as his hips bucked, emptying himself into her. Ellana felt him twitch inside her, the pulses of his pleasure alternating with hers.

As the rush of bliss passed, leaving them holding each other tightly, breathing fast and shoulders heaving, Solas laughed huskily. "I suspect your clan will have heard us."

She didn't miss the smug satisfaction in his grin, lit milky white by the moon overhead. "It was hardly a secret why we left the party." She nuzzled his ear, nipping at the pointy tip and smirking with delight when he shivered. "Everyone already knows I'm pregnant and trust me, the clan knows how babies are made."

Solas chuckled, turning his head and pulling back to touch his forehead to hers. "I have enjoyed seeing you happy tonight, vhenan." He cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her, quick and tender. "In more ways than one."

Ellana caught the nervousness in his tone and moved in for a slightly longer kiss, aiming to reassure him. When it broke she smiled at him through the dark. "They will accept you tomorrow as you are, not as the legends say." With her hand that wasn't still holding the pelt, Ellana brought one of his hands to the soft swell of her navel. "You are family now."

Moisture glinted in his eyes as he smiled at her, though Ellana could see the expression carried as much joy as it did grief. She remembered what he'd told her about his family in Elvhenan and squeezed his hand. "The clan is strong, emma lath. With the Fade rifts gone they can vanish into the forest at the threat of attack. They couldn't do that two years ago with demons at every turn. And now they have your protection. You will not lose us."

Solas took a breath inward and averted his eyes from her, still troubled, but what he said was, "Ar lath ma, vhenan. Bellanaris."

She turned his head toward her with two fingers on his chin and kissed him again. "Ar lath ma, Solas," she replied. "Bellanaris."

______________________________________

**Next Chapter**

"I'm not the one you should be most worried about," Dorian told her ominously. "Because you see, a supply caravan coming into Minrathous a few weeks back was attacked by a bunch of organized elven bandits. Most of the bandits escaped, but two were captured alive and, unfortunately for them, healthy enough for torture. When my illustrious colleagues in the Magisterium finally broke the poor bastards they told us they were _Dalish._ "

Still clutching the crystal, but now with a sweaty palm, Ellana hugged herself, biting her lip. "Dalish?" she parroted, trying to sound surprised.

"Yes, as in _your_ people." He made a little high-pitched noise through his nose. "Did I mention they were barefaced, Ellana? But that's not the best part of it all. They spouted gibberish about serving the Dread Wolf."


	19. Bad News From Tevinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ellana explain their plans to her clan. The angst train is pulling into the station now as Ellana gets an update from Dorian about the Dread Wolf acting shady behind her back.

Keeper Deshanna looked as though she might vomit or break out into sobs, Ellana wasn't sure which was more likely. Mahanon, at her side, was as pale as a halla.

"This…" Deshanna shook her head as she gazed between Ellana and Solas. "This is a lot to take in, da'len." Stiffening, her pale brown eyes flew to Solas warily, no doubt realizing she'd just referred to Fen'Harel as _child_.

"I understand," Ellana said. "You do not need to answer us quickly, or at all. Whether you fight for us or not we will still protect you from the trying times ahead."

They sat together on animal pelts in the clearing some distance from the aravel circle, tall golden grass swaying in the gentle evening breeze. Abelas and the rest of Solas' Elvhen compatriots were now in the clan's encampment, currently socializing—which so far meant the warriors and sentinels stood around with longsuffering, sour expressions while everyone gawked at them and picked at their armor in wonder. Usually Abelas and the others functioned as backup in case the clan reacted violently, though only two clans had ever rejected them and neither attacked. After the celebration and friendliness of Ellana's clan the sentinels and warriors hardly seemed necessary, except as a way to prove remnants of Elvhenan lingered on.

"I trust you, Lana," Deshanna said, though her expression was pained. Her gaze moved to Solas. "Forgive me, it is you I doubt."

Solas smiled sadly. "I am not surprised or offended, lethallan. Your legends do not remember me kindly."

"The Creators were but mortal men and women?" Deshanna asked, repeating what Ellana and Solas had already told them. "A being claiming to be Mythal has visited me in my dreams over the last week, but she did not tell me any of this. I cannot believe it is so. Ageless or no, how could our people remember mere mages as gods? Legend says Elgar'nan defeated the sun, who was his father. He and Mythal shaped the very earth."

"They were no mere mages," Solas said, his voice rough and somber. "They were Evanuris, the most talented and powerful of Elvhenan. And they did shape the very earth—such was their power."

"Can you?" Mahanon blurted, eyes wide.

Solas' jaw clenched and he nodded. "I could, before the Veil sundered the waking world from the Fade. I am a Dreamer; we shape the Fade. When this world and the Fade were one I could transform both with enough will and magic."

"And you wish to restore the world as it was in Elvhenan?" Deshanna asked, her expression unreadable.

"Doing so _will_ restore the People," Solas told her emphatically. "We will once more be ageless. Magic is the lifeblood of the People, lethallan."

"Magic is the gift of the People," Mahanon repeated what Ellana had told him the previous day, glancing to her with a somber darkness in his eyes. "But then none would be safe from the Templars or the Circles. The humans would destroy us in fear of our talents."

"We will have to fight," Solas replied, the passion in his voice making Ellana's skin dimple with gooseflesh. "It is inevitable." He paused, nostrils flaring as he breathed. "It is why I have survived—to lead the People. To right the wrongs of the past."

"Even with magic, we are so few," Deshanna said, frowning though her eyes were sad. "Our best hope is to endure and outlast the humans."

"We grow fewer every year," Solas retorted, his vehemence becoming anger. "In the cities humans purge the alienages on a whim. In Tevinter we are slaves. With every generation our blood is sullied by humans. We will not outlast humans, we will simply be absorbed by them." He fell silent a moment, blue eyes blazing with emotion. Then he said, "I refuse to give in when I have the will and the power to fight."

"Perhaps you are unfamiliar with our history," Deshanna said, irritated as well now. Her long, silver-gray hair gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight as she shook her head. "We fought once before, for the Dales. We lost them. We lost everything. We cannot afford to—"

"I am familiar with your history," Solas interrupted her, his voice almost a growl. "I watched it unfold from the Fade as I dreamed in uthenera. But what is coming is not a war the humans can win, even with greater numbers. When the Veil is removed I will once more shape the earth itself to defend the People."

"Forgive me," Mahanon said, fidgeting with his sleeves as Solas turned his blue-eyed glare on him. "With the Veil in place as it is now, what power do you wield? If the Templars were to arrive now for my daughter or Nelora, could you protect us?"

Ellana watched Solas' reaction out of the corner of one eye, seeing the way he paused, blinking with surprise. The clans they'd approached before had all been cowed with awe and fear, seeing the Dread Wolf as the Evanuris he was. That, combined with Mythal's influence through their dreams, made them more likely to accept Solas' proposal and the many hard truths he shared. But clan Lavellan had met him as _Solas,_ Ellana's lover and fellow Inquisition member. Now, like Ellana had, they were having difficulty understanding how the nondescript, bald apostate could be Fen'Harel.

"Of course," Solas answered firmly. "I would not allow them to take anyone to a Circle."

"There were at least twenty bandits who attacked us two years ago on the day Father died," Mahanon said, suddenly animated. "You could have stopped them with ease?"

"He would have, yes," Ellana answered before Solas.

Solas glanced to her, his brow furrowed. "Vhenan—"

"They haven't seen what you can do. I have," she said, gripping his hand and squeezing. Looking back to her Keeper and Mahanon, she licked her lips and explained, "When the Divine ordered Solas' arrest, I went to go see him where they'd imprisoned him. When the guards tried to drag me out against my will Solas petrified them."

"Petrified?" Deshanna asked, confused.

"Turned them to stone," Ellana clarified. Both the Keeper and Mahanon stared at Solas, dumbfounded. "All four guards."

"Vhenan," Solas protested, grimacing as if hearing the story caused him pain. "Please."

"These were Templars?" Deshanna eyed him, something akin to hope in her gaze, awaiting his answer.

Solas sighed. "Yes, lethallan. It is not a moment I am proud of. I lost control and struck out to defend Ellana."

"And was that a challenge for you?" Mahanon asked, edging forward and dropping his voice in a near-whisper. "How many could you defend against? What limits do you have with the Veil in place?"

Solas shook his head, lips twisting with displeasure. "It was not a challenge, but in truth I do not know the extent of my abilities with the Veil in place. I have spent most of my time since waking hiding who I truly am and what I can do. I was still weak when I joined the Inquisition." He closed his eyes, shoulders slouching slightly. "I am still regaining strength."

"Then we should test your limits," Mahanon suggested, smirking. His eyes were bright with eagerness.

"Mahanon," Ellana scolded him even as she grinned. She knew Mahanon was remembering duels with their father where they practiced hurling fireballs and lightning, then putting out the fires they started with blasts of ice magic. Remembering those pleasant days watching her father and brother cast stirred the ache of loss within her but Ellana swallowed it down.

"I would pass any test you devised," Solas replied blankly, his eyes and mouth set hard with annoyance. "But I would prefer not to waste time on such frivolities."

"You truly are Fen'Harel?" Deshanna asked, her voice breathless. "The Dread Wolf who locked away the Creators?"

"They were Evanuris, not divine creators," Solas corrected her gently. "But I _am_ Fen'Harel and I will see the People restored." He turned slightly, eyes locking with Ellana. The tenderness she saw in his face made her body flush with warmth despite the chill in the autumn air, remembering the night before. "I must ensure the world is right for my own child."

Deshanna drew in a deep breath. "I cannot believe I will say this then, but clan Lavellan is with you…" She made a face, somewhere between baffled and amused. "…Dread Wolf. Lana supports you and we owe her our lives." Her gaze was solemn. "We do not forget our debts."

"Nor I," Solas told her with an exaggerated nod of respect. "I owe the People a great deal and I intend to see them through the chaos to come." Something in his tone made Ellana tense, her heart suddenly lurching into her throat. A second later Solas began again, the words heavier this time. "I doubt I will be able to destroy the Veil before my child is born and there will soon be fighting that will be too dangerous for Ellana to accompany me—"

"You do not get to leave me here, Solas," Ellana cut in, her hands clenching into fists. "I can still help you. I can still fight."

Solas swallowed, his throat bobbing as he continued staring at Deshanna and Mahanon, as if Ellana hadn't spoken. "I would request you accept her into your clan along with a few of my warriors over the winter. I will—"

"Fenedhis, Solas," Ellana cursed, biting out the words. "I'm sitting right here and I refuse to let you go off risking your life without me."

Deshanna and Mahanon looked between the couple, tense though they remained silent. Somewhere behind them, closer to the aravels, one of the halla bleated and a child practiced the hunter's birdcall whistle. Ellana realized she had to pee again as the baby wriggled and tapped on her bladder, but she ignored the urge, too focused on Solas.

"Where I must go will not be safe for you, vhenan," Solas said, at last meeting her eye. "There will be Elvhen magic. It could destabilize the Anchor."

"The Anchor is fine," Ellana insisted, lifting her left hand to open and close it, showing the pale palm. "You worry too much, emma lath."

"And you do not worry enough," he said, frowning with a sad gleam in his blue eyes that made Ellana feel weak-limbed with something akin to dread.

"Lana," Mahanon said, clearing his voice and cringing when both she and Solas whipped around to stare at him. "Solas has a point. Battlefields are no place for expectant mothers." He shot a nervous glance at Solas then, licking his lips. "Forgive me…hahren…how am I to address you?"

Solas smiled. "I was Solas first, long before I had any other names or titles." He directed the words to Deshanna as well, tilting his head slightly. "For clan Lavellan I should like to be just Solas." Pausing a moment with a thoughtful expression, he added, "I suppose lethallin is correct, though one day I hope to know you all as falon."

Mahanon smiled back. "I would like that as well."

As her lover and her brother continued bonding in front of her, Ellana crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, letting out a disgusted noise. "Creators, you two are impossible." She looked to Deshanna, ready to beg. "Hahren, could you please talk some sense into Solas? I cannot stay here while he fights alone. Our child won't come until the spring and the first snow hasn't even fallen yet."

Deshanna's regretful expression told Ellana before the older woman had even opened her mouth that she wouldn't like what she had to say. "Lana, the days will fly by and travel in winter is difficult, if not impossible. If you leave the clan now you are unlikely to return to us before spring and by then it will be too late. You could find yourself giving birth along the side of the road with no healer and only warriors at your side who have never held an infant, let alone birthed one."

Solas frowned briefly and Ellana knew he was thinking of Lyris and Mathrel, though he didn't refute her Keeper.

"No," Ellana grumbled. "I don't care what any of you say, I won't sit back just because I'm pregnant." She gnashed her teeth, glaring at Solas. "You need the Anchor."

"Not for my plans this winter," Solas said, keeping his explanation vague though Ellana knew he had a sizable enough force now that he could ford into the eluvian networks to find the mirror leading to the prison construct he'd created long ago for the Forgotten Ones. Solas had been cagey in his explanations to her, but Ellana guessed it was as dangerous as it sounded. Imprisoned or not, the Forgotten Ones had been enough to give multiple Evanuris pause in Elvhenan from what Ellana understood of her people's legends and what she'd been able to learn secondhand through Solas. What she _did_ know was that Solas could not remove the Veil without being certain both the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones would not be released in the process.

"We can send the clan an eluvian," Ellana suggested. "Then I can return here quickly from Hellathen Hamin. I won't be stuck traveling in the spring or the depths of winter."

Now she saw she'd made him hesitate, a crease forming between his brows as he considered. Finally he looked to Mahanon and Deshanna again. "Would you be willing to take on an Elvhen mirror? It is a magical device that allows instant travel between locations. It would allow Ellana to—"

"Could we use it to reach you?" Mahanon interrupted, arching an eyebrow. "Or to flee if we were attacked?"

"Yes," Solas replied with a nod. "I can teach you how to activate it. But securing and transporting one may prove difficult and it will take weeks."

Deshanna gave a shrug. "I don't see why not. It sounds like a wonderful tool to have."

"Great," Ellana said, squirming slightly as her bladder again reminded her it was full. "Now we don't have to argue about whether I'm staying. I'll return when I'm closer to my time." Her eyes widened as she realized an eluvian meant she could make visits any time she wanted. Grinning, she said to Mahanon, "I'll be able to—"

With a little huff, Solas interrupted her. "Vhenan, please, you must see reason and remain with your clan. With an eluvian I can return frequently, but if I cannot secure one and get it here before the snow impairs travel you will have no way to return before spring."

"No," Ellana grumbled, scowling. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Hardheaded as our father," Mahanon said with a snort, anger darkening his hazel eyes. "You put everyone above yourself, just like he did, Lana. But you can't do that anymore, not when you're carrying a child."

"Thank you," Solas told Mahanon.

The sight of them agreeing with each other—and Deshanna frowning at her too—made Ellana groan. "The answer is still no. There's plenty of time yet." Unable to ignore her bladder anymore, Ellana got to her feet with a grunt.

"Vhenan?" Solas asked, rising as well, graceful despite the sudden motion. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," she grumbled, irritated as she noted both Deshanna and her brother wore concerned expressions at her sudden departure. "Just going to find a tree, as usual." She half expected Solas to insist on accompanying her and felt her shoulder slouch with relief when she saw him sit back down on the halla hides.

_He's only going to worry more as time goes on,_ the nagging voice in her head scolded her. It was true, and she knew he did it out of love, but she had to stay with him as long as possible. The dream she'd had with Morrigan returned to her mind, the worm of distrust writhing in her chest with a flutter of dread. What if the moment she was sequestered with her clan, where she couldn't object or fight him on it, Solas destroyed the Veil and began a bloody genocidal war?

She wanted to trust he would never do such a thing without clearing it with her as their only choice. She wanted to believe that he wouldn't lie to her— _hadn't_ lied to her since revealing who and what he truly was—but Morrigan's seed of doubt remained strong within her, ready to sprout. He might love her, their child, and the People with every fiber of his being, but how far would he go to restore the Fade and its magic? How much would he sacrifice? He had, after all, sacrificed the Fade when he created the Veil, and he'd loved it and the spirits inhabiting it too. It hadn't been all that long ago when he'd cagily considered _her_ as an acceptable, if miserable and unforgivable, loss.

Pushing that thought aside, Ellana marched into the trees. After finding a suitably sheltered spot and relieving herself, Ellana stood and refastened all of her clothing, but as she tightened her belt she heard a high-pitched chime. It rang in pulses, distinct and growing louder for a few beats and then quieting again. A moment later it chimed again, restarting the process.

Ellana located the source of the sound and her jaw fell open, realizing it was the crystal Dorian had given her, chiming away inside the leather pouch she wore on her belt. Opening the pouch, she grabbed out the crystal. It was white and opaque when normally it was translucent. It tingled in her hand, alive with magic.

When she squeezed it tightly the chiming ceased and the golden autumn forest around her fell abruptly silent for an instant then Dorian's voice rang out, sounding tinny and distant. "Hello? Ellana?"

"Dorian?" she asked and then grinned, laughing. "I can't believe this."

His snort carried well through whatever magic the crystal used and she could easily imagine the way his nose would wrinkle at her. "Really? You've fought an ancient darkspawn magister, met a murdered elven goddess residing inside a witch, traveled through time, walked in the Fade— _twice_ —and found a Titan in the Deep Roads, but _this_ is what you can't believe? Long-distance communication using magic?" He laughed and Ellana grinned at the sound, finding it contagious even if it was a bit odd to be standing beside the bush she'd just piddled by, talking to a crystal like a crazy woman.

"I always knew you Southerners were backward," Dorian went on. "But really, old girl, I think the cold down there must really be getting to you. Are you all right? Did I catch you at a bad time? I hope the shock of using the crystal doesn't send you into labor."

Shaking her head, even though she knew Dorian would never see it, Ellana chuckled. "I'm fine, Dorian, and this is actually perfect timing."

"I see," he said, letting the words trail off before adding, "…and is your bald apostate lover in earshot?"

Frowning to herself, Ellana surveyed the woods, finding them as empty as she'd expected. "Actually no, Solas is not with me at the moment." She walked further into the forest as she spoke, keeping her voice quiet. Leaves crunched underfoot but her breath didn't fog in front of her yet.

"Are you alone? Can we speak freely?" Dorian asked, his tinny voice still managing to carry a note of urgency.

"I'm alone," she said. "What's the matter? Has something happened?"

"You could certainly say that, yes," Dorian grumbled. "I take it you don't know. Is he keeping you locked up somewhere? I should think you'd have heard by now."

"No," she said, letting irritation make the single word sharp. "I'm with my clan." She winced, wondering if revealing that was a good idea. Solas wouldn't approve, but she trusted Dorian wholeheartedly. Leaning her back against the white trunk of a mature aspen, she said, "I know both the Chantry and the Inquisition want to get their hands on Solas and I, but I've been traveling a lot." _And not socializing with humans,_ she thought. "I haven't had a chance to catch much in the way of news," she admitted.

"Well," Dorian said with a sniff. "If you had you'd know my homeland is virtually in tatters. Since the summer, actually…come to think of it, this all started _right_ around the time you and our _esteemed_ Fade expert—or whatever he really is—decided to run off. It's been nonstop riots and mayhem by elves and slaves, with a healthy dose of assassinations and plundering of rare and dangerous magical artifacts." He paused for emphasis. "Ancient _elven_ artifacts."

Already Ellana's heart had started thumping against her ribs. She knew very little of what Solas was doing in Tevinter, but she knew the foci he'd had his agent named Zevanni locate and bring to him had been based in Tevinter. As far as Ellana knew, she still was. The orb itself Solas had left at Hellathen Hamin, guarded as the prized possession of his Elvhen warriors. Solas had warned her to stay clear of it repeatedly, like a father trying to shepherd a fearless child from falling into the campfire. They'd left shortly after he obtained it from Zevanni and Ellana was grateful to get away from it—she hadn't told Solas but being within about fifty meters of it always made her left hand sting.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ellana said, her voice tight. She coughed to clear it. "Are you all right? You haven't been hurt?"

"I'm fine—for now," he answered, sounding glum through his usual sarcasm. "But just last week some elf ruffian tried to jump me and put a knife through my back. So it seems anyone with a title is fair game to these cretins, even the ones like myself calling for reform and abolishment of slavery."

Ellana sighed, closing her eyes as she again remembered Solas' story of how his own rebellion had killed his parents and destroyed his village. Was history doomed to repeat itself without end?

"I'm just glad you're okay," Ellana said, the words shaky.

"I'm not the one you should be most worried about," Dorian told her ominously. "Because you see, a supply caravan coming into Minrathous a few weeks back was attacked by a bunch of organized elven bandits. Most of the bandits escaped, but two were captured alive and, unfortunately for them, healthy enough for torture. When my illustrious colleagues in the Magisterium finally broke the poor bastards they told us they were _Dalish._ "

Still clutching the crystal, but now with a sweaty palm, Ellana hugged herself, biting her lip. "Dalish?" she parroted, trying to sound surprised.

"Yes, as in _your_ people." He made a little high-pitched noise through his nose. "Did I mention they were barefaced, Ellana? But that's not the best part of it all. They spouted gibberish about serving the Dread Wolf."

"Dorian, please," she said, her voice shaking as she shivered. Her mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse for whatever clan had attacked in Fen'Harel's name. Had it been on Solas' specific orders, too?

"Please, what exactly?" Dorian asked, sounding irritated. "Please don't point out the _obvious_ connections?"

"I cannot control what other Dalish clans do or think, Dorian," she snapped, losing her patience at his sharp tone.

"Yes," Dorian growled. "Just as I could not control the fanatic beliefs of my countrymen in the Venatori—but I _did_ join the Inquisition to fight them and I went to great trouble warning you about it all."

His words hit her like a slap across the face, making her cringe. The baby kicked, fluttering inside her, as if it'd felt the emotional impact through her.

"I know you'll deny it, but I'm certain you're _close_ with these elven fanatics' leader. I'm hoping you have some leverage with that bald son of a bitch as well. Do my homeland and myself a favor, Ellana, and see if you can get him to scale back the chaos a bit, yes?"

"I'll…" She drew in a quavering breath. "…see what I can do." Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt her stomach clench. _You just admitted to all of it,_ a panicked voice in her head shouted.

"The caravan had mostly innocent traders bringing goods and lyrium into Minrathous," Dorian said, anger deepening his voice. "They weren't slavers. Tell Solas that."

_Lyrium._ Of course Solas would attack the lyrium trade to disrupt Tevinter. She'd never seen him use it and at least within Ellana's own clan it wasn't used by the mages because they avoided anything addictive that could only be obtained by trading with humans—save perhaps alcohol. All Dalish clans knew they had to be ready to disappear into the wilderness, to survive on their wits and knowledge of the forest. Lyrium addictions made that difficult or impossible.

"I will," she murmured, grimacing. Solas wouldn't stop the attacks no matter what she told him. The chaos in Tevinter now was only a shadow of what it would be when the Veil came down and demons poured out from the sky. She felt queasy, imagining herself behind the wards somewhere safe underground as Dorian and all of her friends fought for their lives against endless hordes of demons. How was it different from what she'd seen at Redcliffe, minus Corypheus and the red lyrium?

"Good," Dorian said with a huff. "Because you know I'm not the only one making these connections, Ellana. Her holiness will be hearing of the chaos here and I'm sure the details about barefaced Dalish serving Fen'Harel won't slip her notice. Underneath that horrendous hat they make her wear she's a brilliant woman and with Leliana unofficially leading the Inquisition now they'll—"

"Unofficially?" Ellana interrupted. "Why wouldn't she become Inquisitor since I'm gone?"

"Because they still hope you'll _return,_ " Dorian said. "They're under the impression that bald hobo of yours has you enchanted or some rubbish. They were also rather fond of saying that you'll come to your senses once you're finished…" He trailed off and made a grunting noise that Ellana interpreted as embarrassment. " _Gestating._ I gather Orlesians believe women in a most _delicate condition_ are prone to bouts of madness. Sounds positively delightful, but I told them it was dribble."

Despite the anxiety gnawing at her insides, Ellana laughed. "I miss you, Dorian," she admitted, her voice shaking. Thinking again of Redcliffe brought stinging tears to her eyes and Ellana choked on the lump swelling in her throat.

"What is that? Are you _crying?"_ Dorian asked, flustered. "Stop that right this instant or I'll be forced to—"

Solas' voice cut through the air, "Vhenan?"

Startled, Ellana dropped the crystal with a yelp. It fell into the leaf litter with a clatter against the crisp leaves. Dorian's voice had gone silent, the connection severed as soon as she released it from her sweat-slimed palm. Twisting to look back toward camp, Ellana saw Solas striding through the underbrush, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"Vhenan? I heard voices."

She hesitated only an instant before stooping and grabbing the crystal. "It was Dorian." Watching his face for a reaction, she went on, "He told me barefaced Dalish elves are attacking lyrium caravans going to Minrathous."

Solas stared at her, stoic and unblinking. The lacquered wolf jawbone against his tunic stood out dark in the growing shadows of evening. Finally he dipped his chin. "I am not surprised."

"But did you order it?" Ellana asked, frowning.

Solas tilted his head slightly, his smile dry and humorless. "Vhenan, you must not trouble yourself with—"

She left the aspen tree, whipping around to face him directly, taking an angry step toward him and slashing with a violent motion of one hand. "Answer the question. Did you order them to attack caravans of lyrium? Are elven assassins attacking magisters on your orders too?"

Despite her rage Solas hadn't flinched or even blinked. A cold tremor rippled through Ellana at the sight of him: cold and regal—and alien. Where was the man who just that morning when they woke had felt over her belly, his eyes lit by wonder as he waited for their child to kick? This was not Solas—it was Fen'Harel.

"It was by your order," Ellana said, reading his silence. "All of it."

Solas' jaw clenched and he broke eye contact, staring off into the trees to his right. "The humans have an expression. One cannot make an omelet without breaking a few eggs."

"A few," Ellana repeated, curling her lip in a snarl. "How many does the Dread Wolf consider _a few_?" Taking another few steps closer to him, Ellana tried to keep herself calm but knew her face was bright red with rage. She no longer felt the autumn chill, only the blaze of anger. "Dorian told me _he_ was attacked. Are you assassinating our friends now, Fen'Harel?"

His blue eyes slid to her and narrowed, his own anger pinching his lips together in a hard line. "No, I would not do that."

"But if they die in the chaos, that's an acceptable loss, isn't it?" Ellana asked, baring her teeth.

Solas shook his head. "You are naïve if you believed it was possible to accomplish our goals without chaos and death. It is inevitable that some who are dear to us will be lost."

"As long as they're not elven," Ellana retorted and then her hands clenched into fists. "Or is it Elvhen? My people and the city elves are just pawns in a game of chess."

Solas' nostrils flared, his jaw squared. A muscle feathered in his temple. "Ellana," he growled. "Please. You are being unreasonable."

"And you are _harellan,"_ she snapped. He flinched at the word, taking a step backward. Immediately Ellana's stomach dropped as horror stole her breath. Her head swam, pounding as she struggled to compose herself. "I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks burning with shame. "That was unfair. I didn't mean it."

"You are upset," Solas agreed, his voice cold and his blue eyes steely. "But this is what must be done. For the world to be remade there must be sacrifice." He turned his head, staring off into the trees and drawing in a deep breath. "Your people and the city elves outnumber the Elvhen many times over, but it is the Elvhen who must lead them. It is the Elvhen who understand how to fight best with magic, and that is how the chaos will be won when the Veil is gone. They must be preserved. I do not take pleasure in this, but it is the hard truth."

Closing his eyes, his shoulders slumped, the anger draining from him visibly. "The blame is mine. Let the blood be on my hands, vhenan. I will gladly pay for it with my own life to see you safe and the People saved."

Icy, invisible hands reached out to strangle her. "Solas," she breathed, almost choking on his name. "Are you saying destroying the Veil will kill you?"

"In truth I do not know," he admitted, his small smile humorless and hard. "But I did not enter uthenera willingly. I was not weary of life—creating the Veil nearly killed me. Destroying it should not prove as taxing, but I may not be strong enough to accomplish it _and_ reshape the restored world."

"There must be another way," Ellana said, her heart pounding, aching with each beat. "Please." She reached out to touch him, to grab his hands and squeeze them as if to reassure herself he wasn't about to vanish, but Solas withdrew a step and shook his head.

"Forgive me," he said. "I should not have told you this." The small smile returned to his lips, distant and wan. "I may have worried you needlessly. As I said, I do not know with certainty what will be required of me in the path ahead. What I do know is that the People must survive it and emerge victorious." Real warmth touched his expression now, softening it. "And you and our child will endure. That is all that matters, vhenan."

"The cost is too high," Ellana protested, her words shrill with desperation. "Please—what if you only removed a small part of the Veil? What if we could create an elven homeland, like the Dales, where the Fade and the waking world are one?" At his surprised look Ellana plunged on. "We could spare Thedas the chaos and save the other races. The humans would never claim our lands because they fear the Fade. Once we stabilized the tear there would be peace, and managing a nation instead of a continent has to be easier for you."

Solas' brow furrowed. "Where have you gotten these ideas?"

Ellana shut her mouth, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth as if she could hold back the answer or deny it. What had Morrigan said? She feared meeting the Dread Wolf directly and hoped to manipulate him. If Solas knew where this plan came from, would he reject it based on that alone? _No,_ she thought. He could be stubborn, but Solas was never one to deny reason.

"Morrigan visited me in a dream," she admitted. "She is Mythal's new vessel."

"I see," Solas said and grunted with interest. He frowned and evaded her gaze. "I must consider this."

Ellana was about to speak again when she heard Deshanna's voice echoing from the trees, calling for them both. Solas sighed. "Perhaps we can discuss this later?"

Feeling dazed, Ellana nodded. One hand lay over her abdomen, as if to comfort the baby, though the motion was more about reassuring herself. Her thoughts spun as Solas walked with her, his hand at the small of her back to usher her forward. Did he really believe he would die destroying the Veil? The thought of enduring such a loss made her feel as though she couldn't breathe, as if a rift had opened inside her somewhere and was sucking her into its dark, crushing depths. She pushed the possibility aside, refusing to give it credence.

___________________________________

Early the next morning clan Lavellan bid them goodbye, gathering with gifts of food, supplies, weapons, and tools. Warm smiles surrounded Solas and he knew without the Keeper telling him that she'd not shared his identity with most of her clan. If they'd known he was Fen'Harel he doubted they'd be smiling as they gave out their finest knives, staffs, ironbark, and enchanted trinkets as gifts.

Yet, despite Solas' inward doubt, he found the Keeper and her First, Mahanon, smiling and friendly as they and a few others closest to Ellana escorted them to the rope bridge over the river. Ellana's sister-in-law, Rinaya, carried her niece Deya in her arms as the group walked. Solas caught the baby smiling at him often, her gap-toothed grin innocent and contagious. He couldn't resist returning her smile, though grief made him heavy and hollow inside, unable to stop himself from wondering if he would live to see his own child grow to Deya's size.

At the rope bridge Solas sent Abelas and the arcane warriors across while he lingered with Ellana, her family, and the members of her clan who'd walked with them from the clearing. He noted both Mathrel and Lyris had almost painful expressions on their face at the sight of Deya and their postures seemed hunched with emotion. Seeing the clan's children reminded them of course of their own goals and what they'd lost so long ago.

"I really wish you would stay, Lana," Mahanon told Ellana as they embraced. "You would be safe here and we would happily care for you and your little one."

"I know," she said, her lips trembling as she smiled. "But I must see this through." Solas didn't miss the quick side-glance she shot him. Learning about his chaos-causing activities in Tevinter had shaken her faith in him and Solas wanted to curse Dorian for it, though he knew he had only himself to blame. Surely Ellana could see the necessity of what he was doing, it'd only been the surprise of learning of it from someone else that'd bothered her.

Ashani, Ellana's mother, was next to enfold her in a hug. "You _must_ return in time for the little one's birth," she exclaimed, sniffing as she struggled to withhold her own tears.

"I will, mamae. I promise."

Solas struggled with himself, refusing to add to her family's ongoing admonishments that she _should_ be staying here. He watched Lyris and Mathrel across the river, their eyes still on Mahanon's daughter. Then his gaze moved to Abelas and the other sentinels. Most of them milled about, their boredom with this domestic scene obvious in their crossed arms and slack expressions. But Abelas' attention was on Ellana, following her as she moved to embrace Rinaya and Deya next.

"We will have to practice casting techniques together when you return," Mahanon said, drawing Solas' attention back to this side of the river. Mahanon flashed a friendly smile, though his green-brown eyes held a spark of wariness. "Maybe you can teach my daughter someday," he added, chuckling.

"I would be delighted," Solas replied honestly, a broad smile spreading over his lips as he looked to Rinaya and Deya standing nearby. "On both counts."

"We will eagerly await this mirror," Deshanna said then, somber as she addressed him. "But should you require us sooner, lethallin, you have only to send word." Looking to Ellana, she smiled. "And you as well, da'len."

Ellana's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Thank you."

Abruptly Solas registered footsteps and then the croaking, wet cough from behind him. Before turning around he knew it was Negan, the old hunter they'd met upon first arriving and guilt stabbed through him. Disease and aging were ailments he'd brought to the People, not humans or the other races. Yet Negan looked comfortable despite the racking cough and he smiled as he approached their group, wearing scout armor and with his bow slung over his shoulder. His granddaughter, Nesa, skipped along behind him, her braided hair bouncing on her shoulders. Further behind the young girl Solas also saw other hunters, including Lerand and his older brother, Samhel, lingering nearby to catch final glimpses of clan Lavellan's most famous member…and the strange apostate she'd brought with her.

"Brother," Deshanna greeted Negan, her eyes dark with concern. "Are you well this morning?"

"As well as can be expected when I must keep up with this one," he said motioning to his bouncy granddaughter.

Nesa giggled, the quiver of smaller arrows on her back clattering woodenly as she hopped, alternating between one and two feet. "I'm going extra slow for you, granddad."

"As you say," Negan said, chuckling before he nodded toward Ellana. "I wanted to say goodbye, da'len."

The croak in his words had nothing to do now with his cough and Solas could see the whole group—minus Nesa and the baby who hadn't grasped the truth yet—reacting with restrained grief as they faced the inevitable. Ellana's lips twisted, caught between a smile and a frown. When she blinked tears spilled from her cheeks and she moved to embrace the old man.

Solas closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, accepting this as yet another reminder of his crimes. He knew of blood magic spells that could extend Negan's life, curing his illness for a time, but casting them would inhibit his own connection to the Fade. Blood magic was traditional magic's antithesis, strengthening the physical world and repelling the Fade. Solas had studied it but had only cast it once while sealing away the Forgotten Ones. Even in Elvhenan Dreamers had abhorred blood magic because it made altering the Fade and the waking world difficult and so much of what they did required the Fade to be malleable.

He could have saved Negan and had known that from first meeting the old man, yet doing so jeopardized his other goals. Mentioning the spell or offering to teach it to Deshanna and Mahanon would only garner their fear and scorn. Resolving to say nothing, he bowed his head, accepting the old man's inevitable death as just another burden on his conscience.

_Harellan_ , Ellana had said and the word stung him even as just a memory. _Trickster. Traitor to the People._ He knew the clans he'd recruited had only fallen in line because Ellana stood at his side and because Mythal—Morrigan now, apparently—had mysteriously lent her support. Even Ellana's Keeper and brother wouldn't have been as friendly had they not also had Mythal's word to reassure them. The Dalish might never trust him, and Solas might never quite smother his own bitterness toward them for remembering him and everything else from Elvhenan so wrongly, but he would still fight for them. He owed it to them for sundering them from the Fade, for robbing them of their immortality and condemning their whole race to slavery and servitude for millennia.

But most of all, he owed it to Ellana. If he didn't survive the coming chaos she needed her clan to comfort her and for all the faults of the Dalish, clan Lavellan would be an ideal place for his own child to be born and grow.

With their farewells said, Solas followed Ellana across the rope bridge to rejoin the sentinels and the arcane warriors for the long walk toward the road again. They traveled mostly in silence for the first hour, moving with little stealth due to the constant faint clink of the Elvhen warriors' armor. Ellana walked with Arina, the rogue sentinel, ensuring their party evaded any Dalish snares they encountered. Solas followed close behind them both with Lyris and Mathrel trailing him. Abelas and the other sentinels took rear position. The early morning forest, resplendent in the vermillion and saffron hues of autumn, rang with the cheery cries of birds and Solas could almost forget that he wasn't a youth again, wandering the wilds of Elvhenan when the forests had been alive with the songs of spirits as well as birds. In those days the entire world had been alive with song.

And then, as they neared the road, Ellana suddenly broke the quiet by glancing over her shoulder and asking him, "Tell me about Felassan."

He froze, staring at her. "What?"

She clung to the rough gray bark of a young pine tree that she'd been using as leverage while they scaled the latest hill. Breathing a little fast, she looked again over her shoulder and repeated her question. "Tell me about Felassan."

"The slow arrow of the Dalish legend?" he asked, brow furrowing. "I should think you would know the tale better than I."

"No," she said, facing forward now. "The elven man who served you."

His throat suddenly seemed to close. Lyris and Mathrel had halted just a few paces downhill from him, the leaves still crackling under their feet. The rogue, Arina, had stopped further up, twisting at the waist to watch and listen.

Keeping his voice quiet, Solas said, "Perhaps we might discuss this later?"

She was silent and motionless for a long, tense moment. Then, slowly, she turned to face him, still gripping the pine tree trunk with one hand. Leaves rustled under her feet. Her shoulders appeared bunched with tension as she glared at him. "Did you kill Flemeth?"

He blinked, feeling his own body tense with alarm, his skin prickling. _What is going on here?_ Heat lashed through him before he swallowed, walling it off. Unable to come up with a convincing half-truth or diversion on so short a notice, Solas tried to dodge. "We can discuss this later."

Her green eyes narrowed, her mouth quirking between a deadpan neutral and a steely frown. Then Ellana nodded to him, her jaw clenching. "Fen'Harel enansal," she growled and pivoted away from him, resuming the hike uphill.

Arina scrambled upward as well, her feet skidding on slick leaves, but not before Solas caught the slight twitch of the rogue's lips as she smirked.

Looking behind him quickly, Solas found Abelas watching the scene with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. Mathrel and Lyris wore baffled expressions. Solas shot them each an individual glance, searching their reactions, but both arcane warriors gave a single shake of their heads. They hadn't revealed anything to Ellana. Solas had no reason to doubt either of them, and Abelas wouldn't know about Felassan and to Solas' knowledge hadn't known in what form Mythal endured.

But Morrigan, who'd stayed in Empress Celene's court and had doubtless been exposed to Briala, would certainly have had opportunity to learn of both deaths. Yet it wasn't the witch pulling the strings here.

_Mythal._ With his hands clenching into fists, Solas started uphill again, scowling to himself. _What are you up to?_

___________________________________

**Next Chapter**

"Still burping up your bits?" Sera asked, grinning. "You look it now." She traced a half-circle over her own slender navel with both hands, as if rubbing Ellana's visibly rounded belly. "Like knocked up, not fat, I mean."

As her other Inquisition companions sniggered and the elves shifted uneasily, Ellana shook her head, chuckling dryly as she felt a blush steal over her cheeks. "Thank you for that, Sera. Very touching."

"Course," Sera said, still grinning. "Anytime, yeah? Still betting it's a girl."


	20. Ellana Doesn't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few of the Inquisition's inner circle get caught in the eluvian network, bringing Ellana even more bad news. The Dread Wolf has been very busy behind her back.

This time when Ellana saw the golden grasses of the Exalted Plains, strewn here and there with grayish boulders, she knew at once this wasn't real. She was dreaming and most likely Morrigan would soon join her. Still, she drew in a deep breath as she stared out at the wild halla and tried to keep her mind empty of doubt or worry. The sun above warmed her skin, its glare bathing the world in a brilliant gold.

When she heard and sensed a presence nearby, Ellana didn't turn quickly to look. "Fancy meeting you here, Lady Lavellan," Morrigan's voice spoke from behind her.

"Lady Morrigan," Ellana answered in the same vein, casting a slow look over her right shoulder to see the black-haired witch in the shadowed gap between the boulders. "Still wishing I'd been the one to drink from the Well of Sorrows?"

Morrigan let out a dry, humorless laugh. Her feet rustled against the grass and gravel crunched underfoot as she strode to stand beside the boulder Ellana sat upon. "More than you know," she admitted, a mild frown creasing her features. "But I am content, for now." Her disconcerting golden eyes slid to Ellana with a sly look. "You, however, must be shaken by what you've learned of your lover. Tell me, do you find yourself wondering if you can trust him?"

Clenching her jaw, Ellana watched the grazing halla and ignored Morrigan's needling question. Yet she couldn't stop the cold fear twisting within her, knowing the witch was right. Her bare toes scratched against the boulder she sat on as she shifted her position, wafting at a bit of green ether drifting upward from Morrigan's direction. "Do you shape this place, or does it draw from me?" Ellana asked. "Or is it Mythal?"

Morrigan's nose wrinkled as she smirked with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "`Tis a mixture of all three," she replied with a little huff. "But we have little time for idle questions. I have a proposition for you."

Ellana closed her eyes, willing herself to turn Morrigan away, to refuse to listen to her, but the hot spark of her conscience refused to dim enough for her to do it. Over the past two weeks Ellana had gradually questioned Solas about Felassan, his activities in Tevinter, and whether the idea Morrigan had shared with her about an elven homeland where the Fade and the mortal realm were one could work. But Solas often answered evasively or diverted her by changing the subject or launching into a complex magical explanation that she couldn't quite grasp without being a mage herself.

Frustrated, she'd tried asking Lyris and Mathrel whenever Solas was out of earshot with Abelas and the sentinels, but the arcane warriors were even worse than her lover. All they did was shrug or tell her not to worry about the past or the nuances of magic. Not for the first time since leaving the Inquisition, Ellana realized she was not leading these elves, but worse was the crushing weight of knowing she was also _apart_ from them. As much as she'd grown to enjoy Lyris—the female warrior was easy to talk to and had helpful tips regarding her pregnancy having once been a mother herself—both she and her husband were loyal to Solas to a fault. Any chance Ellana had of learning more about Solas from an outside source evaporated as she realized Lyris and Mathrel would never talk. Worse, she sensed Solas knew she was fishing for information from the others, which meant the warriors told him of it.

Because Ellana often walked with Arina, the sentinel rogue, she'd started striking up conversations with her as well, hoping to learn something eventually. But Solas was rarely out of earshot while they traveled and Arina always seemed wary and tightlipped, though Ellana had started to get the rogue to discuss what life had been like before the Veil, when she served Mythal. Now she wondered if Arina or any of the sentinels had dreams with Morrigan in them too. Was it possible for Morrigan, with Mythal's help, to let multiple dreamers commune with one another in the security of the same dream?

"I'm listening," Ellana said finally to Morrigan.

With a slight upward turn of her lips that wasn't quite a smile, Morrigan strode around the front of Ellana's boulder. She faced the plain below with its sedate halla, grazing in the sea of golden grasses, and raised her left hand skyward in the same gesture Ellana used with the Anchor. "What if I told you, Inquisitor, that Fen'Harel will never find a way to spare you from the power of his own Anchor? Not for lack of trying, of course. Yet the problem remains."

Morrigan's palm glowed blue-green and the magical energy glowed, extending down to her elbow until it enveloped the whole forearm in color. Where she pointed, in the gold-white sky around the sun, the air thrummed and darkened as it turned greenish. Ellana winced and flexed her own left hand as she heard the crackling sound of the Anchor—but it came from Morrigan, not herself. She gnashed her teeth, trying to ignore the sudden cold sweat that broke out over her skin.

With a flourish, Morrigan tore her hand downward and the dull crack of a rift opening echoed over the boulders. The halla in the plains lifted their heads and bleated with alarm, scattering as the sky above them tore open. Ether from the Fade dripped and swirled, bright and dark greens intermixed, casting a shadow over the land below. No demons spewed from it, though Ellana's body still tensed and she found herself fumbling for the bow slung over her shoulder.

"What are you doing, Morrigan?" Ellana asked as she heaved herself to her feet, bow in hand and her eyes on what she knew was a fake rift. They were already in the Fade, dreaming. Nothing could harm them here…well, except powerful Dreamers like Solas. ...And demons.

"I am refreshing your memory," Morrigan answered, smirking at Ellana over her shoulder. "Closing rifts was your specialty, was it not? But what I need—what _Mythal_ needs—is for you to open one." She gestured to the plains. "In the Dales. Some secluded spot where no one will care enough to stop you. The Emerald Graves perhaps."

Ellana frowned. "Solas would never agree to travel that far from the eluvian network now that we've returned to Hellathen Hamin." She didn't add that Solas was about to launch an offensive into the Crossroads, seeking the eluvian that led to the Forgotten Ones' prison. Despite agreeing to listen to Morrigan—and Mythal through her—Ellana wasn't about to feed the witch any information that would betray her lover.

"I did not suggest that he would, Lady Lavellan," Morrigan said with a sly grin that narrowed her golden eyes. "I know that he intends to confront the Forgotten Ones in their prison."

Schooling her reaction, Ellana said nothing. Staring at the rift, she tried to admire the swirling greens of it and not consider that if this were real demons would've spilled from it in droves.

Morrigan's grin broadened even further. "I also know that you and Fen'Harel are not a harmonious couple at the moment."

Now Ellana shot the witch a glare. "Stop calling him Fen'Harel. His name is Solas."

"Truly?" Morrigan asked, her teeth white and sharp in her mouth. "How can you be so sure? After all, you have only known him a few years. Mythal whispers to me that your lover has been Fen'Harel, Dread Wolf, and Fen'Sa, the Lone Wolf for far longer than he was ever merely Solas. I suspect there were times he nearly forgot his given name."

_Fen'Sa,_ she thought. Solas had a name she hadn't even heard before. _Of course he does._ Angry with her own lack of surprise, Ellana's hands clenched, one empty and the other holding her bow. Ellana growled, "Get to the point, Morrigan."

"Fen'Harel does not wish you to accompany him on his assault on the Forgotten Ones, but you refuse to be set aside," Morrigan said, sobering now. "I am suggesting you agree with him. Set him at ease."

"No," Ellana muttered immediately. "I want to see the prison and these Forgotten Ones for myself."

Morrigan smiled, the crafty gleam entering her eyes again. "But your lover has legitimate concerns, does he not?" She motioned to Ellana. "Every day you grow larger with his child and killing the Forgotten Ones, weakened though they must be after millennia trapped outside of the Fade and the Void, will require an enormous amount of magic—just the kind that will destabilize your Anchor."

Again Ellana averted her gaze from Morrigan, struggling to control her reaction. Pain ached in her throat and chest. Was Mythal even now going to shame her into letting Solas fight alone? _No,_ she thought, _Mythal is not here simply for concern over my wellbeing._ Oddly, the realization helped ease the pain inside her. It reminded her of the truth: Mythal was trying to _use_ her in some way. She had to be wary.

"Do not throw your life away, Lady Lavellan," Morrigan said, her voice soft now. "Or that of your child. I am not a mother, but Mythal was and she and I are in agreement on this. Fen'Harel is the last Evanuris—whole and untainted. Such heritage is worth saving and must live on if at all possible. Fen'Harel may not survive restoring the world, `tis true, but his child will doubtless be a powerful Dreamer and there are precious few remaining."

Intrigued despite herself, Ellana looked back to Morrigan with a raised brow. "How can you possibly know anything about my _unborn_ child?"

Morrigan snorted. "Perhaps you should ask your lover about the Evanuris' children and how many of them were Dreamers."

"Solas has told me my people's legends were wrong on almost every count," Ellana murmured, shaking her head. "I know Falon'Din and Dirthamen were supposed to be brothers, sons of Mythal. And Andruil and Sylaise were sisters. Is any of this true?"

Morrigan smiled, closed-lipped. "More than you know. There is always truth in myths and legends, buried somewhere. Mythal and Elgar'nan did have many children, all of them Dreamers of great power, but Dirthamen was the only one of their children with power to equal theirs."

"And what of the other Evanuris?" Ellana asked, feeling over the bump of her abdomen absently. She'd known her child would almost certainly be a mage, but hearing Morrigan—or Mythal, rather—react with such confidence made her skin prickle with something akin to awe.

"Andruil and Sylaise were sisters, yes. Andruil had no children of her blood, but Sylaise and June had many children together. All of those children were Dreamers." Morrigan tossed her head slightly, knocking her hair from her eyes. "I suspect more than a few of those children survived the fall of Elvhenan. Their blood endures within the People…" She broke off with a sigh before adding, "…and within elf-blooded human descendants."

"I'm not an Evanuris," Ellana said, stating the obvious. "I'm not even a mage. I don't see any reason why my child would be born any more powerful than my father or my brother."

"I'm sure you know magic inheritance runs in families," Morrigan said. "I've touched your brother's dreams. I've seen his fears for his own daughter who is also gifted. When the Veil is removed, Mythal believes your brother and your niece may both be Dreamers themselves." She smirked. "And you, Inquisitor, navigate dreams so easily. Mythal whispers to me that she suspects it is more than just the Anchor on your hand that allows you to do so."

Ellana scowled. "I can't even cast a spark. Even my mother can do that."

"Then perhaps you have not tried the correct school of magic," she retorted, a note of impatience in her voice. "`Tis not important. I told you this so you could understand that you are important in the struggle to come and Mythal wishes to see you preserved and protected. If you go with Fen'Harel to kill the Forgotten Ones the Anchor is certain to destabilize." Her lips curled with distaste. "Fen'Harel will reclaim the Anchor then as well as your arm. Then he will have no further need of you."

Ellana glared. "You cannot seriously expect me to believe Solas would kill me."

"Do not be hasty, Inquisitor," Morrigan said, flashing a smile laced with irritation. "I said nothing about Fen'Harel harming you—though it is reassuring to see that you know he is certainly ruthless enough to consider it."

Anger burned inside Ellana. Baring her teeth, she growled, "Solas would never—"

"Calm yourself, Lady Lavellan," Morrigan cut her off with a cluck of her tongue. "I apologize if I have offended you, but you cannot deny you have doubts about your lover. And you should. He would gladly order the deaths of any friend if it furthered his cause substantially."

"I don't believe you," Ellana snarled. Looking to the fake Fade rift, twisting and gleaming in the sky, she gnashed her teeth with frustration.

"No?" Morrigan asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Mythal whispers to me that she's certain Fen'Harel knew of the plot to kill her. Yet he took no direct action to stop it as doing so would have significantly weakened his own position and cause."

The words impacted Ellana like a slap to the face. She gazed at Morrigan, wide-eyed and speechless, her body suddenly doused in cold sweat.

Morrigan nodded to her. "I can see this news shocks you. Did you know Mythal was like a mother to him? _She_ trained him, honed his magic, and guided him. _She_ protected him from the other Evanuris' wrath at every turn." A note of passion entered Morrigan's voice and the witch seemed to shake with the force of it. "When he emerged as an unkempt wildling who barely remembered how to speak elven, _she_ defended him. When he returned to the wilds and attacked Andruil's hunters, Elgar'nan's armies, and Gilan'nain's warriors, _she_ calmed their tempers on his behalf. When his agents caused riots across the empire, _she_ discouraged their calls to unite against him. And when Elgar'nan and Falon'Din finally learned Mythal had sheltered Fen'Harel's armies in her lands, _she_ was the one they punished."

"Solas couldn't have known," Ellana insisted, her mouth dry and her heart hammering in her throat.

"Couldn't he?" Morrigan asked and let out one short, bitter laugh. "Perhaps you do not comprehend how powerful he had become. His army was larger than Elgar'nan and Falon'Din's combined. He had more spies than Sylaise and Dirthamen. His artists and craftspeople rivaled June's. What's more, he held sway over the Forgotten Ones, something even Mythal does not understand."

"My Inquisition did not know of the Qunari threat," Ellana retorted. "And yet we rivaled kingdoms." She pinched her lips together, certain she must be right. "Solas would've stopped her death had he known."

Morrigan slashed a hand sideways, dismissively. "Regardless, Inquisitor. Whether you will believe it or not, Fen'Harel will use you. Doubtless, he weighs your worth now and sees it as invaluable. A most prized possession as you can serve him four times over—lover, mother of his child, Dalish recruiter, and wielder of the Anchor. But one day he will need to take the Anchor from you for himself and that is what My—" Morrigan grimaced and then rephrased it. "What _I_ must prevent."

"And what makes you think I will help you?" Ellana asked, still clutching her bow in a death grip.

Morrigan sighed, looking suddenly exhausted. "Because, as you said, he will never agree to allow you to come here, to the Dales." She gestured to the fake Fade rift, silent and beautiful in the sky over the plains. "He will humor your questions and delay until one day—after you've given birth, I suspect—he will take the Anchor from you, whether it has destabilized or not. Then he will destroy the Veil and reshape the world, even though it will cost his life."

"No," Ellana said, shaking her head violently. The dream around her spun, the Fade rift blurring in her gaze. "No, you're wrong."

"Am I?" Morrigan asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Or is that denial I hear in your voice, Lady Lavellan? Fen'Harel has told you he may be called to give his life for the People, has he not? When he met with Mother he spoke of a price to be paid, and that he should be the one to pay it." Her jaw clenched, golden eyes narrowing. "He does not expect to survive. This is din'anshiral for Fen'Harel, Inquisitor. Surely you must see that."

"No," Ellana growled, sucking in a shaky breath. "No. You're wrong."

Morrigan smirked, though her golden eyes held the gloom of sadness in them. "Keep saying that, Inquisitor. Perhaps you may yet make it the truth—though `tis doubtful. The strength needed to reshape the world amidst the chaos Fen'Harel will release would require the power of all remaining Evanuris. He is but one. Such stress will inevitably kill his physical form."

Ellana turned away, her feet shuffling on the scratchy boulder beneath her. Her body shook, though she tried to keep her mind empty, refusing to fully consider the witch's words. "That won't happen," she whispered. "I'll convince him to take the Veil down in pieces. He's said it's possible, that he could do it. Why wouldn't he agree?"

"Many reasons, I suspect," Morrigan replied, apparently having no trouble hearing Ellana's whispering. "He will refuse to limit the People in favor of the humans and other races. Why should they share Thedas and restore only a small portion of it? More than that, he will oppose retaking the Dales because then we must fight on two fronts: against the chaos of demons _and_ the Orlesians. More of the People will die. Also, Mythal whispers he will resent leaving the Veil intact anywhere as it is an unnatural state of being that he is determined to rectify. His love of the Fade demands he set things right."

Whipping around, Ellana shouted, "None of that is worth his life!"

Morrigan shrugged and laid a hand on her chest. "Not to _me,_ or Mythal, or _you_ , perhaps. But to Fen'Harel?" She raised a brow, challenge in her golden eyes. "You know the answer he will come to."

With her eyes burning with emotion, Ellana asked in a snarl, "What do you want?"

Now Morrigan smiled, somber and stern. "While Fen'Harel makes his assault on the Forgotten Ones, you will journey with Abelas and his sentinels into the Crossroads to an eluvian leading to ruins in the Dales. Abelas will guide you and protect you, but once you've chosen a secluded place, like this one…" Morrigan motioned to the fake Fade rift over the plains. "Open a rift as wide as you can and enter the Fade."

Ellana froze, her mouth going dry. "You want me to enter the Fade, physically?"

"You've done this twice now, Inquisitor," Morrigan said, grinning as she shook her head. "I should think the shock would have worn off by now. The Anchor will allow you and several of Mythal's sentinels to enter the Fade physically. Abelas will stabilize the tear and then, once you've killed any demons in the area, you need only hold the region until you're ready to expand with another rift."

"I could destabilize the Anchor," Ellana murmured. She felt a flutter inside her and laid a hand over her abdomen, thinking of the baby. Was she wakening? Or did the baby's movements in her sleep crossover the Veil to her in the Fade?

Morrigan frowned, turning to scan the plains as if she'd heard something. Her posture was tense with alertness. "Damn," she grumbled, facing Ellana again with an expression of anxiousness. "I believe Fen'Harel will soon find us." She licked her lips, urgency in her voice as she went on. "I will meet with you physically in the Dales, Inquisitor. Unlike Fen'Harel, I— _Mythal_ — _we_ know a way to take the Anchor without also taking your arm. Do as I ask and she will save you _and_ your arm."

"How do I know you won't just take it for yourself?" Ellana asked, fear twining cold hands through her.

Morrigan snorted. "And earn the full brunt of Fen'Harel's wrath? I think not."

"He will be furious regardless," Ellana said, narrowing her eyes at the witch. "And how am I supposed escape Hellathen Hamin while—"

"We do not have time for this, Inquisitor," Morrigan said, spinning quickly to gaze around the empty plains. She raised one palm to the sky again in a casual waving motion, her palm glowing. The fake Fade rift spluttered and went out, disappearing like a candle snuffed out by a stiff breeze. "Place your trust in Abelas and he will guide you."

Morrigan began walking toward the nearest boulder, her steps swift and hurried.

"Wait," Ellana called after her and started to leave her boulder, ignoring the uncomfortable leaden weight in her belly as she hopped down. "Morrigan—will this save Solas' life?"

Just before the gap between the boulders, Morrigan paused and pivoted to stare at her. "Mythal believes it will, yes."

Ellana had stopped, one hand clutching her bow still while the other rested as it so often did these days on her expanding belly. "Thank you," she said, already knowing she couldn't pass up this opportunity, even though she knew this could be a trap Mythal had planned all along. "Mythal'enaste."

Morrigan dipped her head in a meaningful nod and then stepped backwards until the boulders obscured Ellana's view of her. As soon as the witch had vanished the sun over the Exalted Plains seemed to wink out. Ellana gasped, feeling the boulder underneath her go suddenly flat, the texture transforming to something soft, as if covered with fur. The warmth she'd felt from the sunlight became the enveloping heat of the blankets covering her.

When she opened her eyes she found herself in a room with walls of pale gray stone, unlit except for the reflected light of a brazier outside the doorway. Sensing movement nearby, Ellana shot upright, her heart racing as she twisted to look to the opposite side of the room only to relax as she recognized Lyris' silver armor, glinting even in the darkness.

"Lyris?" she asked, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. Noticing the other side of the pallet where she and Solas slept was currently empty, she sighed. "Where's Solas?" She'd expected to find him sleeping next to her, trying to ferret out her dreams. If Morrigan hadn't sensed Solas in the Fade, who else could it have been?

"He rose early to meet with the latest Dalish warriors who've joined," she answered, her deep voice soft and gentle.

In the long weeks of traveling and recruiting around Thedas Ellana had had to constantly remind Lyris and her husband, as well as the sentinels, that her people were _Dalish_ , not _shem-elves._ It'd finally sunk in now that they had returned to Hellathen Hamin it seemed. A good thing too as the ruins of Hellathen Hamin had been increasingly crowded with Dalish arriving in droves from every corner of Thedas along with a steady influx of city elves. Solas' Elvhen lieutenants greeted them, and occasionally Solas himself, though he didn't use his Evanuris title with them when doing so, leaving a degree of separation and confusion as to the true identity of the Dread Wolf among the modern elves. The last count Ellana had heard put their forces at nearly three hundred—right at the number Solas wanted to lead against the Forgotten Ones.

Sitting up and throwing the covers from herself, Ellana shivered against the chill in the air and quickly moved to don her armor. "Did he send you to wake me?" she asked Lyris over her shoulder. "What time is it?"

"Just after dawn," Lyris said. "And no, Solas did not ask me to wake you, but considering the issue at hand I felt you were the one I should consult." She edged closer, her armor clinking with each step. "Two of Abelas' sentinels returned a few moments ago with intruders they found trespassing in the Crossroads. They claimed to be your Inquisition companions and I…recognized the mage with them."

Stunned, Ellana froze in mid-motion, pulling her surcoat over herself. Whipping around to face Lyris, she repeated what the warrior had said. "My Inquisition companions?"

Lyris nodded. In the darkness, with only the brazier behind her casting a flickering light, the warrior's face was obscured and impossible to read. "The sentinels discovered the Halamshiral eluvian active about two weeks ago. I suspect the mage has learned to turn it on."

The grimness in Lyris' voice made Ellana frown. "You say that as if it's especially bad." She adjusted the surcoat and then began securing her belts and straps, scowling as she found today she had to loosen it around her hips again. Morrigan had been right when she said Ellana was growing everyday. Or rather, the baby was growing everyday.

"It is," Lyris said, shifting her stance with tension. "Because unless Fen'Harel is the one using them, that eluvian and many others require a passphrase to activate." She paused, the silence heavy with Ellana's anticipation. "The passphrase is Fen'Harel enansal."

Ellana bit back a groan, barely. _Fen'Harel's blessing._ Yet already her heart raced, twisting with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. A wave of dizziness washed over her, but Ellana pushed it aside. If the mage was who she thought it was…someone Lyris recognized and who'd been clever enough to find the passphrase as well as whatever magic was required to activate the eluvians…

"Take me to them," she said, unable to bring herself to call them prisoners though she knew that was what Lyris and the sentinels considered them.

Lyris dipped her head in a bow, waiting patiently as Ellana finished dressing and pulled on her long coat as well. Ellana marched after Lyris as the warrior led her out of the small stone chamber she and Solas slept within and out into the hallway beyond where the brazier burned as much for light as heat. They were belowground in the ruins, where the temperature was always chilly but constant and above freezing.

The first frosts had come to the area, making food scarce as edible plants withered and died, but the forests were still rich with game and all of the incoming elves arrived with dried meats, cheeses, and other rations from their journeys. Even so, the ragtag army would soon fall apart without a food source. Oddly, Solas didn't seem to be concerned by that, which likely meant he had a contingency plan in place, though as usual he'd shared little with her about it. Ellana made up her mind to ask specifically about it the next time she had him alone.

They ascended a crumbling staircase, going slow to avoid loose and disintegrating bricks. Ellana felt wobblier than she thought she should, but she wasn't certain if that was due to the changes in her body or her increased wariness and caution. The last thing she wanted was to stumble and hurt herself or the baby.

They emerged out into the courtyard, lit with the pink-orange of the rising sun, low on the horizon as it peeked over the ruin's collapsing walls to the east. Tents had been pitched in neat lines, made from both fabric and furs. Campfires smoldered with coals still glowing in them. Elves sat around each fire, tending them and maintaining watches throughout the area. More tents filled the next open clearing beyond the ruins, and dozens of aravels stood around the edges of the encampment. Frost rimed the tents and crunched on the grass underfoot as Ellana followed Lyris out of the courtyard and up another crumbling staircase.

"Why did the sentinels bring them here?" Ellana asked as they entered the narrower, open passageways of the ruin. The roof had collapsed long ago, leaving the earth beneath their feet littered with large stone blocks that they had to pick their way through. Now, with the morning frost, each block was slick.

Lyris grunted indelicately. "They claimed they believed it was the best choice to keep the prisoners locked up under our control until Fen'Harel can change the passphrase. Then we can send them back to Halamshiral."

The note of anger in Lyris' voice made Ellana scowl. "You don't believe that?" she guessed.

"No," Lyris growled.

"Then why did they bring them?" Ellana pressed, wishing Lyris would turn and meet her eye. It seemed like an extremely foolish mistake on the sentinels' part—leading a troupe of Inquisition agents here only showed them which eluvian would take them to Hellathen Hamin. Considering their long lives, dedication, and extensive training, it seemed highly unlikely the sentinels had chosen to do this out of foolishness.

Now Lyris stopped and her shoulders worked as she breathed a moment. Then she turned, her face a mask of anger that almost made Ellana flinch backward. "Because they serve Mythal and the human mage with them keeps talking about her." She snarled. "I will never serve a leader who proclaims godhood."

"The mage mentioned Mythal?" Ellana asked, eyes wide with disbelief. Was it a bluff by a smart mage—Dorian she assumed—or was Morrigan really that busy? "Do you think he's telling the truth? All the Dalish Keepers have claimed Mythal visits them in dreams. Could this be—"

Lyris cut her off, terse and irritable. "What does it matter? Mythal abandoned the People. Her vessel was _human._ If she's spoken to this mage as well…" Lyris' jaw clenched, her blue eyes dark with anger. "I do not trust any one who once proclaimed godhood."

"But she allied with Solas," Ellana said and then sighed, correcting herself. "Fen'Harel, I mean."

"And now they dance in courtly intrigue," Lyris grumbled, lips curling in revulsion. "Even though the court is in ruins."

"The Game," Ellana supplied with a nod.

"Yes," Lyris agreed with a sneer before her shoulders fell. "Come with me, Lana."

They resumed their walk, threading through the ruins until they reached the dead-end corridor where they stored the eluvian. The mirror was bright blue, active and humming with magic, lighting the pale, half-collapsed walls around it. Standing there in front of the mirror were several elves and four familiar faces—Dorian, Thom Rainier, Sera, and Iron Bull glaring at their elven captors. Seeing them brought a wide smile to Ellana's lips before she could stop it and as the sound of her steps and Lyris' armor both drew her friends' gazes they too broke out grinning.

"Ellana, old girl!" Dorian exclaimed, immediately beaming. "There you are!"

"Quiet," Mathrel shouted, snarling. He bristled, fully armored and deadly. "Shem."

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian grumbled, glaring. "I'm not even allowed to greet my dearest friend?"

"Arse," Sera put in with a sneer at Mathrel. "You blind yourself in the sun with that armor, yeah? Bad as her most holy lady lumps, that."

Ignoring them, Mathrel glanced toward Ellana and Lyris. "Emma lath," he said, speaking to his wife and partner. "You should have brought…hahren." His brown eyes slid to Ellana with a look that was both regret and embarrassment. "Ir abelas, Ellana."

"Hahren was occupied," Lyris replied, curt and cold.

Mathrel seethed, launching into a snarled explanation of what'd happened. "These shem have been trespassing into the Crossroads from Halamshiral. They reactivated the eluvian to the library and—"

"I know," she cut him off with a dismissive wave, irritation making her terse. _You should have brought hahren,_ he'd said to Lyris. Ellana knew who exactly Mathrel's _hahren_ was. Observing the four sentinels she recognized Arina the rogue, Darae, and Zaron, while the fourth was a lower-ranked rogue whose name she didn't know as she hadn't traveled with them to recruit among the Dalish. One of them, Arina, shot Ellana a somber glance over her shoulder. The certainty hit Ellana that none of this was an accident, making her skin tingle.

Focusing on Mathrel, Ellana said, "These are my friends. They won't attack us. There's no reason they need be treated as prisoners."

Mathrel scowled and shook his head. "They _are_ prisoners. Until hahren says otherwise."

"Who's this Hahren guy?" Iron Bull asked with a grunt.

"Damned if I know," Rainier muttered.

"Probably another name for our bald _friend,"_ Dorian grumbled with a snort. "Since he has _so_ many titles these days. My favorite was always apostate hobo, naturally."

Ellana clenched her jaw, schooling her reaction as Mathrel shouted again, cursing in elven and ordering them to be silent. His hands had curled into fists, his shoulders bunching up with rage. "Mathrel," Ellana called out, her voice ringing with authority. "Perhaps you'd like to go and fetch _hahren_ yourself. I would like to speak with my friends without you spitting and hissing like a cat."

The warrior glared at her and then spat off to one side and charged away, pausing as he brushed past Lyris and growled out, "Stay here, emma lath." Eyeing Lyris out of the corner of her vision, Ellana saw the other woman nod, her lips pinched in a hard line. Then Mathrel stomped away, his armor clinking faintly.

"Downright cranky fellow," Dorian said with a sniff. "Worse than Solas." He cocked an eyebrow then, staring Ellana down with a glint of anger. "Or should I call him Fen'Harel? Perhaps you can tell me, Ellana?"

As the other three merely stared at her, waiting, Ellana felt Lyris' gaze on her and flexed her palms, finding them coated in sticky sweat. She took a few steps closer to their group, stopping beside the sentinels who'd remained silent but alert with their weapons or magic at the ready. Ignoring Dorian's question, Ellana said, "I'm sorry we're meeting like this, but it doesn't change the fact I'm happy to see you all."

"Still burping up your bits?" Sera asked, grinning. "You look it now." She traced a half-circle over her own slender navel with both hands, as if rubbing Ellana's visibly rounded belly. "Like knocked up, not fat, I mean."

As her other Inquisition companions sniggered and the elves shifted uneasily, Ellana shook her head, chuckling dryly as she felt a blush steal over her cheeks. "Thank you for that, Sera. Very touching."

"Course," Sera said, still grinning. "Anytime, yeah? Still betting it's a girl."

"Now," Ellana said with a sigh, trying to move on. "Care to tell me why you're here?"

"We volunteered," Dorian answered and when the others turned to watch him Ellana pegged Dorian as the informal leader. "Well, _I_ did. Divine Victoria offered resources and access to the eluvian in Halamshiral when she learned of certain… _information_ myself and my colleagues in the Magisterium have gathered in recent weeks." He shot a vicious glare at the sentinel elves and Lyris. "Something about a certain elven trickster god that I have a sneaking suspicion is bald and enjoys flapping his gums about the _Fade_ quite often." He twisted his mustache with one hand idly, feigning a pensive expression. "Now what _was_ his name again?"

"Daddy droopy ears," Sera supplied with a smirk that was somewhere between anger and amusement. 

Still blushing, Ellana cleared her throat, determined to continue ignoring the fact they seemed entirely confident they knew Solas' identity now. Refusing to admit or deny it was tacitly allowing them to see the truth, she knew, but Ellana didn't want to fall into that quagmire of arguing. "That doesn't tell me why you were in the Crossroads." Feeling a little residual anger at Cassandra, she frowned. "What does _most holy_ want with Solas and I now? Was it not enough that she had him arrested and threatened to lock him in a Circle?"

"Yes," Dorian said, flashing a lopsided smile. "She feels dreadful about that, but you know Cassandra, honor and that whole seeking the truth rubbish. But the truth, Ellana, is that she and Leliana hoped to come to a…diplomatic solution to what's happening in my homeland and the rest of Thedas."

Ellana stared at him, her chest constricting. "What do you mean?" she asked, the words breathy. His words rang in her skull like a gong: _the rest of Thedas._

Frowning, Dorian cocked his head, apparently perturbed by her question. "I told you about the chaos in the Imperium, but I take it you've not heard about alienages rising up and elves just…" He made a whooshing sound with his lips and gestured as if knocking an imaginary glass or other small object over. "Gone. Servants and slaves and Dalish alike, all of them up and leaving. And that's not to mention the guerilla attacks that started about three weeks ago raiding farms and villages, taking food and supplies—oh, and _killing_ everyone. Can't forget that. And then, of course, they just _vanish._ " He smiled sarcastically. "Delightful, don't you think? Strange, Cassandra says the reports are always that it's _elven_ apostates primarily."

Ellana stared at him, dumbfounded. The chaos in Tevinter she understood because it held both slaves and ancient artifacts, two things Solas desperately wanted to change. But rebellions elsewhere and guerilla attacks? She'd just wondered how Solas intended to feed this growing force and now she knew. Any spot within reasonable distance from an eluvian would be open to attack.

_And this is why he risked so much to gain the Inquisition's help removing the Qunari,_ she realized. The eluvians allowed him incredible power and freedom, and he'd used _her_ to secure his hold on them. More than that, Ellana remembered Morrigan's words when she'd taken her to the Crossroads through Skyhold's eluvian. Elvhenan had struggled with the mirrors being used in this _exact_ way, forcing them to deactivate most of them. It was no coincidence that Solas had returned to them now.

_Fen'Harel will use you,_ Morrigan had said to her in the Exalted Plains, mere minutes ago. _He already has,_ she thought and felt her stomach clench, waves of hot and cold washing over her.

"Ellana," Lyris said, her voice strained. "You mustn't listen to this fool shem's poison."

The sentinels remained tense, but Ellana caught them shooting her anxious looks, dark with meaning. The baby kicked inside her, his little jabs strong. _Oh da'len,_ she thought at her baby. _How could I have been so blind?_

"Poison, is it?" Rainier growled. "The rest of Thedas calls it daily news."

"Actually, they're calling it an elven uprising," Dorian said, glaring in Lyris' direction. "And it sounds a mite suspicious to me, Ellana, that your friend over there isn't the least bit surprised by it, but _you_ are." He shifted on his feet, arms crossing over his chest. "We volunteered to enter the Crossroads hoping to make contact with you or that bald apostate bastard to learn the truth and settle this mess before it gets worse."

"We need you back, your holy lady bits," Sera added, straight faced.

"Or you can talk some sense into Solas," Iron Bull growled. "Before I put a horn in his gut instead."

"You'd be dead before you even knew what happened to you, Qunari," Lyris snarled.

"Enough," Ellana grumbled, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Her hands were trembling, her knees weak. "I need to—" She broke off, her skin suddenly prickling and the Anchor crackling as it responded to magic. Gasping at the pain, Ellana cradled her hand and almost missed the twining, flash of purple-black energy shooting past Lyris. And then, between one eye blink and the next, Solas stood beside the sentinels, wearing his silver armor and the black wolf headdress over his face, obscuring it.

Everyone, including Ellana, flinched with surprise at the sudden, unnatural arrival. The sight of Solas, glimmering and malevolent, his lips twisted in a deep frown, stole the breath from Ellana's lungs. He was magnificent and terrifying, his arms behind his back and his shoulders squared with his namesake: pride.

Lyris was the first to speak, greeting him automatically. "Hahren."

"Hahren," Sera repeated in a mocking voice. "You shite bastard, daddy droopy ears."

_____________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

"Do you not understand our position?" Solas asked her, biting each word out. "We cannot achieve our goals if you reveal our plans to our enemies!" His grip tightened, the metal on his fingers biting into her skin. "Why did you betray me, vhenan? Why must you oppose me at every turn? Do you delight in causing me pain?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Ellana snarled, even as she saw the anguish in his gaze. "They are _not_ our enemies. They could be allies if you would but _listen_."


	21. Broken Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the Angst Train!
> 
> Solas and Ellana's disagreement on the future of Thedas comes to a head. Ellana acts independently of the Dread Wolf, trying to cut a deal with the Divine through Dorian.

The sight of Ellana grimacing as she cradled her left hand where the Anchor had flared to life made Solas scowl as he took in the scene. He bit back the press of worried words ready to rush out of him, questions about the Anchor and apologies for causing it to activate with his spell. He could not be Solas right now, not arriving in his headdress fresh from greeting new elves eager to fight for him.

The four sentinel elves remained wary and alert, ready to execute the trespassers should he give the order, but Mathrel had already told Solas that Zaron and Arina had brought Ellana's friends here. It was a blatantly stupid act, thinly veiled as a desire to control the trespassers while Solas reset the eluvians. Lyris, meanwhile, just to his left and behind him, radiated a tight, nervous energy. Mathrel had already told Solas that Lyris brought Ellana, something her husband didn't approve of, and he wondered now if she worried she'd lost favor with him or had even garnered punishment. Both arcane warriors had known Felassan. They knew Solas didn't take deliberate failure or sabotage well.

Dorian spoke up then, his face twisting with a snarl. "Teleporting now, are we? That's a new trick. But then again, you're just full to the brim with new tricks since we last met." He raised one hand, listing them off on his fingers. "Banditry, rebellion, murder, theft—"

"Enough," Solas snapped with a dismissive wave of one hand. The single word carried, strong and powerful with authority. Dorian sneered but fell silent. "Why have you come?"

"The Divine is looking to discuss peace," Rainier answered, gruff. "She knows you are—or were—a reasonable man."

"They carried texts on them from the shattered library," Zaron added then, looking to Solas. "These are lies."

Dorian scoffed. "Naturally, condemn us for trying to _learn_ something while we're hoping to stumble across you in the Crossroads with no clues as to your motives or location. Because we simply must be lying about—"

"Is it true?" Ellana blurted, drawing Solas' gaze. He had to tilt his head up slightly to see her better from under the headdress. She wore an expression that made his heart wrench with pain and regret, her lips curling with revulsion as she glared at him. "Tell me you're not attacking innocent people all over Thedas, taking their food. _"_

His shoulders slumped as the weight of her furious stare tore at him, but he steeled himself, recovering. "We can discuss this later," he told her.

"No," she shouted, taking a step closer, left hand still cradled in her right though the Anchor's green light had faded. "Answer my question now. Are you ransacking human settlements for food to feed your army?"

Solas had known this would be a miserable day since waking before dawn to mingle with the latest arrivals. He didn't believe in superstition, but he hadn't been able to shake the coiling weight of anxiety in his belly all morning and now it seemed justified. Dorian, Rainier, Sera, and Iron Bull all stared at him with varying levels of hostility, awaiting his reply. It was Ellana's glare that made him feel as though jagged glass was cutting into him with each breath. He'd held back the logistics and other details of their growing army because it was what he _always_ did, compartmentalizing his forces and keeping them in the dark. He led this force, not Ellana.

"We will discuss it later," Solas repeated firmly, then, before she could object, he motioned at the sentinels. "Take the prisoners to the far end of the ruins to the old cells and keep watch on them." As the sentinels nodded and stepped back, motioning at Dorian and the others, Solas spoke in a low voice to Lyris, "Go with them."

"Fen'Harel enansal," she murmured, quiet enough that perhaps the former Inquisition members wouldn't hear her, then she sprang over the jumbled, frosted stones from the collapsed roof and walls to do his bidding.

As their footsteps retreated, Ellana snarled at him. "How could you, Solas?"

"I do only what I must, vhenan," he replied, vehement but struggling to keep his voice calm and even. "I take no joy in it, but the army we created must eat and the land here cannot sustain so many over the winter. I have no powerful allies, as you did through the Inquisition. This modern world abhors both magic and elves. So we must take what we can."

"By attacking innocent people," Ellana retorted, brow furrowing and her eyes clouded with both anger and sorrow. "How many people have you killed in these raids? How many more will die of starvation because we took their food and supplies?" She shook her head, appearing as though she might vomit. "We could have traded for some food. We have plenty of animal skins and ironbark. We could—"

"Raids would still be necessary," Solas interrupted heatedly. At her angry frown Solas felt some of his own emotion drain away. "I'm sorry, vhenan. I should have told you of this, but I knew it would trouble you. I worry for your health with the child and winter setting in." Shame stabbed at him, whittling away at the cold resolve keeping him from going to her, closing the gap to hold her if she'd allow it. "I did not intend to move so quickly, but with the foci and with our child coming I must act."

"You used me and the Inquisition to keep control of the elvuians," she muttered, her nostrils flaring and shoulders heaving. "And now you use them for war just the way the Qunari planned."

"Eluvians have always been used for war as much as travel," Solas told her sadly. He lowered his gaze to the stones strewn about underfoot, all which remained of the once proud and beautiful outpost Andruil had created ages ago. "I am not the first to use them for that purpose. As long as the network exists, it will be used for both good and ill. There is no escaping that."

Seeing the rage still coloring her face, Solas looked away again, jaw clenching. "I did not use you, vhenan. I may have taken advantage of your position and your power, but you would have done the same in my place. And I did so with your full understanding. You knew I am the Dread Wolf. You knew I had plans for the eluvians. I have not misled you."

"I did _not_ have full understanding," Ellana growled. "You never told me you planned to use the eluvians like this. I would never have supported it."

"Would you have preferred the Qunari?" Solas rejoined, unable to keep the quiet rage from his own voice now.

Ellana jerked her head away from him as if he'd hit her. Her lips pinched in a tight line and a muscle feathered in her jaw.

The sight of her anger made Solas' own emotions fizzle. He _had_ to make this right. With his voice soft now, he said, "I have ever been your ally, vhenan. Yes, I have taken advantage of that, but never under false pretense once I revealed myself to you."

Some of the furious red blush on her face eased, though she continued breathing harder and faster than normal. Then she said, "Take off the headdress, Solas."

Calling only a tiny bit of energy from his core, Solas' palms glowed and he passed his hands over his head, removing the enchantment from the headdress that kept it glued tightly to him. He closed his eyes as the magic finished surging through him, always relishing the pleasurable sensation it left, like stretching a muscle. Then he gripped the headdress and pulled it backward, off his bald scalp. The chilly autumn air made his hairless scalp and neck cold on contact but he ignored the sensation.

Staring at Ellana, he let out a long, sad breath. "Ma nuvenin." Solas took a few steps toward her, picking his way almost unconsciously through the crumbling bricks littering the ruin. He held the headdress in his hands in front of him, his head bowed. "Tell me how to make things right between us, vhenan. Let us reach a compromise."

Her brow knit, her green eyes dark with doubt that made Solas nearly flinch. "I don't want to be your ally, Solas," she said, her voice deep with melancholy. "I want to be your partner."

Now he did flinch, torn as both irritation and anxiety warred inside him, setting his heart racing. Solas had never shared power equally. Ever. The closest he had come was with Mythal and that'd wound up getting her killed. Just as he'd been unable to shake the sensation of dread since waking this morning, he couldn't dispel the certainty that the closer someone was to him the more devastating the consequences. Already Ellana had lost her position in the Inquisition due to his own loss of control with the Templars. He had to consider the dangers of sharing power with another, not just the risk of betrayal, but the risk that his partner would be used against him and targeted—exactly as Mythal had been.

There was no logic behind the superstition, only painful emotion shaped by experience, but that made it no less powerful. He couldn't deny it, couldn't lie to Ellana or make a promise if he couldn't keep it. Soon none of it would likely matter. He was unlikely to survive reshaping the world anyway.

"Forgive me," he said, his throat tight. "I have never shared power, only led or served. My path is one best trod alone." Unbidden he recalled laying helpless and weak in the ruins of his uthenera chamber, clutching the foci and feeling the frustration, terror, and despair of knowing he lacked the strength to survive and would die unfulfilled. Suddenly shaky, Solas pivoted around and walked back to the short crumbling stairs, his pulse hissing in his ears. He had to return to the troops, had to _fight_ to make his life and his death meaningful.

"Solas," Ellana called to him and he heard her feet crunch over the frosty grass. "Please—don't shut me out. Don't push me away." The anger in her voice had given way to something raw and painful. "You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to sacrifice yourself, dammit! There's another way."

He froze at the top of the stairs, a niggling though like a splinter lodged in his mind. _Mythal_. "What other way?" he asked, the words guarded. He didn't turn to look at her, knowing that if he did he'd let himself think about losing her, in his death or with her own, never seeing their child grow and never living to appreciate the new world they'd fought for.

"I can use the Anchor to open rifts and expand them slowly," Ellana said, rushing to explain. "We can stabilize them—you've said so yourself. We would only need to hold off the humans until then. They won't want whatever land we restore because they're terrified of the Fade. Doing the work in pieces would save you, emma lath. Please."

Solas' head bowed, eyes closing. What she said was technically possible, but there were so many things wrong with it. The entirety of Thedas should be restored to correct his mistake. There would be thousands of elves still outside of the immortality the Fade provided, still helpless and enslaved or indentured and impoverished. Ellana made defending the area sound so simple, but it would be far from easy. The humans might fight them on principle, even knowing the Fade had been unleashed within it. Worst of all, they could adapt and overcome their Andrastian fears of spirits as plenty of other human cultures had. Spirits and demons would be blocked from the stabilized tear, but inevitably they'd find ways through from time to time, driven by curiosity or desire. Corralling them like that made Solas' stomach clench—it wasn't fair to them to place the waking world in their own and then ban them from it.

 _Thedas should be_ _whole,_ he thought. _The way it once was. The way it was before I destroyed it._

Slowly, still holding the wolf headdress clasped in both hands, Solas turned to face her. Her eyes searched him and he didn't miss the way her expression fell, her shoulders slumping and her throat working as she swallowed. She'd already read the answer from his demeanor alone.

"Ir abelas, vhenan," he murmured, avoiding her gaze. "The Veil must be destroyed in whole. There is no other solution I can foresee working in the long term. What you suggest would kill many more of the People and we would have to defend our holdings. It is too visible, and incomplete—unfair to both the People and the beings of the Fade."

"But it will spare your life," Ellana repeated, almost shouting. "Once we are immortal we can expand it as we need." Her smile trembled, hopeful and desperate at once. "But we will need an Evanuris and you're the only one we've got."

If he hadn't been so miserable, Solas would've chuckled. Instead he just shook his head gloomily. "That is not a reason to legitimize cowardice to allow me to shirk responsibility. I created the Veil. I destroyed the People. Only I can return what we've lost."

"But it doesn't have to cost your life," Ellana said, her voice shrill. Her hands had fallen to her small belly through the coat, a motion that never failed to draw Solas' gaze. He looked now and winced, longing to turn away if it would ease the sudden forlorn ache inside his ribs.

"It may not," Solas said, forcing a wan smile. He didn't believe his own words, but hoped they'd bring her comfort.

Her green eyes glimmered with moisture, but her jaw clenched and her nostrils flared with anger again. "Solas, please…"

Casting his eyes downward, Solas drew in a silent breath and raised the headdress. He pulled it on, his chilled scalp and neck glad of the covering, and then resumed the spell to keep it on with a quick pass of both palms over his head. "We can discuss this…" He paused, realizing his words were a lie. He had been about to tell her they'd speak tonight, but he'd planned secretly for the last few days to leave this afternoon into the Crossroads. The time had come for him to lead the assault on the Forgotten Ones.

And Solas had planned to leave without telling Ellana—because he could _not_ take her with him.

Seeing her frown, the fury and stubborn determination still in her posture, Solas knew she'd fight him if she knew the truth. She'd demand to accompany him despite the danger to her life, their child, and the risk of destabilizing the Anchor on top of everything else. As much as he wanted to keep his promise never to lie to her, he _had_ to make an exception this time for her own good.

Sighing, he spoke with more resolve now. "We will discuss this tonight." At her anguished, angry glare he added, "Ir abelas, vhenan, but I am needed elsewhere, however, messengers have told me clan Lavellan has sent warriors. Your brother is among them." He hoped she would take joy in her family while he was away and that by now, with the passage of several weeks, the Keeper had completed the gifts he'd asked her to create for Ellana.

"What of Dorian and the others?" she asked before he could turn away.

He frowned slightly. "I cannot reset the eluvians just yet," he admitted, though he didn't explain why, hoping she wouldn't ask or notice. "We shall keep them here until I can." He nodded to her. "I suspect they'll have questions for you."

"What am I supposed to tell them?" Ellana asked, anger mottling her cheeks. "They came here on a mission of peace but you have no intention of meeting with them to discuss it, do you?"

"Unless they were to agree to restore the world with us there is nothing to discuss." Seeing her hands curl into fists at her sides, Solas winced as something ached inside his chest, regretting the hard truth. "I do only what I must to ensure success," he repeated, as cold and stoic as he could manage. "Contrary to what I expect they will tell you, Ellana, the raids we have conducted are not bloody. Only those who fight us are slain."

She huffed out a breath, still glaring at him and then her shoulders slumped and her rage transformed abruptly to despair. "This is not how things should be," she said, voice trembling. Then she repeated herself, "Don't shut me out, Solas. Please…"

"We will speak soon," Solas promised her and then, considering he _could_ conceivably perish fighting the Forgotten Ones, he moved down the steps and enfolded her in an embrace. Inhaling deeply, he stroked her soft hair, trying to ignore the way she shook in his arms and didn't return his hug the way she usually did. "Ar lath ma, vhenan," he murmured and pressed his forehead to hers, ignoring the awkwardness of the headdress.

Ellana pulled away from him, partly turning her back. Her rigid shoulders spoke of her bottled fury, as did the slight, rough tremor in her voice. "Dareth shiral," she told him and stalked off, heading in the direction the sentinels and Lyris had left in.

Watching her go, Solas felt something hard aching in his chest, like a stone lodged against his heart and lungs. When she disappeared around a half-collapsed wall, Solas closed his eyes and summoned his magic again, vanishing as suddenly as he'd appeared.

____________________________________

Ellana wasn't sure if the burning in her throat was just heartburn or if fury fueled it. Marching through the dilapidated ruins, she made her way to another, smaller courtyard where yet another jumbled staircase descended belowground. Ancient elves had painted the pale stones with images of halla in yellow-gold and white figures riding black mounts, along with doodles inside the cells occasionally that were less artistic and more graffiti. Ellana and Solas' chamber, also a former cell, had an image on one wall of two female figures engaged in a lewd act. The artist, likely a prisoner long ago, had used ash and blood as ink.

The stale air belowground held a sour scent, chill against her skin but warmer than aboveground. The passageway was dark, unlit by natural fire though several veilfire torches now cast a flickering green light. Marching past gateless cells where the metal bars or whatever had formed the door had long since decayed, Ellana saw Lyris and two sentinels beside one cell near the end of the hall. All three elves watched her approach with trepidation.

"Ellana," Lyris greeted her when she reached the cell. "Has hahren given instructions on what must be done with the prisoners?"

Seeing the cell they'd chosen to toss her friends into, Ellana scowled. The ancient iron bars had rusted into red dust in spots, leaving sizable gaps that someone as lean as Sera could possible squeeze through. And a man as strong and massive as Iron Bull or even Rainier would easily be able to knock the bars aside with a charge, breaking the fragile steel in either the hinges or the lock. It was a flimsy prison, yet her former companions made no attempt to challenge their captors—yet. Their eyes glimmered green from the nearest veilfire torch.

"Ugh," Sera said with a groan, squinting against the green light. "I hate that green fire stuff."

Swallowing to try and ease the gathering fire in her throat, Ellana spoke to Lyris, "Solas said to keep them here for now." She didn't care that she'd confirmed that _hahren_ was their veiled term for Solas, that he was indeed their leader. Stepping in front of the cell, she tucked her arms behind her and squared her shoulders, trying to feel more self-assured than she actually did about what she was about to do.

"Dorian," she said with a tight smile. "You said the Divine is seeking a peaceful solution to conflict in this elven uprising?"

"I did say that, yes," he answered lips quirking as though they didn't know whether to smile or frown. "What I didn't say in front of… _him_ was that I volunteered to leave the Imperium after I had an encounter in a dream with a certain witch who helped us defeat Corypheus. You know, the one who turned into a dragon?"

Ellana nodded. "Morrigan has visited me in the Fade as well."

"She seems to have grown quite significantly in power recently, wouldn't you say?" Dorian asked, the words slow and carefully enunciated with meaning. He motioned to the sentinel elves lingering behind Ellana. "I told these two about it when we ran across them in the Crossroads. And that's what made them bring us here."

Lyris made a noise of disgust in her throat, but otherwise said nothing. Turning her head, Ellana glared at the other woman. "Shouldn't you be with Solas? I truly don't need a babysitter. My friends aren't going to attack me."

The other woman shook her head, steely blue eyes narrowing. "Ellana…" her voice carried a warning. Undoubtedly she sensed Ellana's rage simmering just beneath the surface and could guess something unpleasant for Fen'Harel was about to happen.

"Stay if you prefer," Ellana told her with a glare. "But don't try and stop me." Facing Dorian and the others again, Ellana said, "Fen'Harel will not discuss any terms of peace with you, but I will."

At Solas' Evanuris name spoken aloud Lyris gasped and cursed in elven. "Ellana," she hissed. "You go too far." Grabbing her by the forearm, Lyris began pulling her away from the cell.

Ellana ripped free with a snarl. "Do not _touch_ me." They glowered at one another through the greenish dim light. The sentinels were frozen, silent as they watched the confrontation. From the cell behind them Sera sniggered, a nervous twittering that ended in a snort.

The sound made Lyris blink as she withdrew, raising her hands in submission. Her gaze had become sorrowful and pleading. "You are making a mistake, da'len. Think of Felassan. Think of your child—your future."

"I _am_ ," Ellana growled under her breath. "I won't help Solas destroy the world and kill himself or my friends. Thedas belongs to everyone, not just the elves."

Lyris pinched her lips together. "Say no more, please."

Ignoring Lyris' begging, Ellana pivoted to the cell again and cleared her throat, trying not to feel as though she needed to vomit. "I have a steep request to ask of the Divine," she said. "I must have the Dales returned to the elven people, immediately."

Dorian's jaw dropped as he stared at her, speechless. Rainier and Sera both watched her with wide, shocked eyes, but Iron Bull grinned. "Way to go big, Boss."

"You cannot be serious," Dorian said, shaking his head in consternation. "You know she'll never agree to that. Even if she did, I'm certain the Orlesians would never accept it. The Dales have been theirs for…what? Seven hundred years? I applaud your bravado, old girl, but negotiations usually mean compromise. What could you possibly grant in return?"

"The rest of Thedas," Ellana answered deadpan.

Dorian burst into a laugh. "I'm sorry, really I am, but have you gone mad? I can't tell Cassandra that. She'll think I'm making it up or she'll assume that shabby, wolf-loving filth of yours has enchanted me somehow too. Delusional Dorian, that's what she and Leliana will call me."

Aware of Lyris' stare on her back, Ellana said, "You can tell the Divine that the uprisings will soon be the least of her worries." She sighed, taking the plunge. "The Dread Wolf intends to take all of Thedas for the elven people. Sacrifice the Dales or lose Thedas. It should be an easy decision."

Dorian snorted, his mouth hanging open in ongoing shock. "Ridiculous. You cannot _believe_ this."

" _Is_ Solas somehow this Dread Wolf?" Rainier asked, his bushy eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his nose. "I still can't believe it."

"The Herald of Andraste and a fucking demon," Sera snarled. "Load of codswallop, that is."

"He's a vessel," Iron Bull supplied. "Like that Flemeth."

"Dragon lady," Sera said and sniggered.

"Ellana," Lyris hissed behind her, still trying to stop her.

Ignoring both Lyris and the tense sentinels, Ellana said, "Solas _is_ Fen'Harel. He is not a vessel, not a demon, and it's not a title inspired by legends."

The four of them gawked at her. They'd known or highly suspected Solas' connection with the Dread Wolf for months now, but hearing Ellana actually say it aloud was naturally shocking. Behind her Lyris cursed in elven and suddenly strode away, her boots clapping over the ancient stones. Ellana gnashed her teeth as she heard the warrior leaving, already knowing exactly where—and _who_ —Lyris would retrieve.

"But _how?"_ Dorian asked, eyes searching her. The green light flickered over all of their shocked faces.

Ellana swallowed again, her stomach roiling. "That's not important. What _is_ important is that the world will change dramatically very soon." She felt her hands curl into fists. _"Fen'Harel_ and I disagree on how extreme those changes must be. Give me the Dales and I may be able to convince him not to go through with his plans and choose mine instead."

"Solas can't actually hope to take over Thedas," Rainier said, frowning beneath his thick mustache and beard. "He wouldn't stand a chance against that many fronts. Everyone would oppose him. Thousands would be slaughtered—humans and elves." His eyes were dark and solemn as he stared at Ellana. "My lady, you cannot support this."

Ellana smiled at him. "I don't, Thom."

"But that _can't_ be what he's planning," Dorian said with a nod, brow furrowing as he thought. "That bald bastard is too clever for something so…brutish."

 _They know so little,_ Ellana thought and sighed, hunger and acid writhing in her gut. The baby squirmed and she rubbed at her belly when it made a particularly strong kick. _Your father is going to be so furious with me, little one._ Oddly, she smiled, hard and humorless and cold at the thought.

"That's not his plan," she confirmed for Dorian. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you any more than that."

"Whatever it is, Boss believes it will work," Iron Bull observed aloud, reaching out to grip Dorian's forearm. His demeanor was somber, even grim. He growled deep in his throat. "That's the part that's important, Dorian."

The four of them looked to her with newfound horror and Ellana drew in a shaky breath as she twisted to motion at the sentinels. "Did Mythal contact you both?"

Zaron, a middle-aged man with silvered hair, nodded. "She has, yes. She warned us we would encounter trespassers in the Crossroads and that we should bring them here. Fen'Harel may demand our lives for it."

"Ouch," Sera mumbled, shuffling in place and looking to her feet. "Shite."

"I will try to protect you," Ellana reassured them in a quiet voice. She saw a look of gratitude pass over Arina's face, though Zaron remained grim.

"You may be unable to protect anyone soon," Zaron said in a low voice. "You should not have revealed hahren."

"Are you in danger, my lady?" Rainier asked, sounding concerned.

"I'll take my chances," Ellana said, both to Zaron and Rainier. "But I appreciate the concern."

"If he lays one _finger_ on you, Maker's balls, I'll strangle him myself," Dorian blustered.

Sera snorted, laughing. "Think it's a bit late for that, Dad, with her growing a baby and all. Droopy ears laid a whole lot more 'n a finger on her. In her, too." She broke off, chortling.

Ellana scowled, her cheeks burning. "Yes, thank you for that obvious and unnecessary comment, Sera."

"What?" Sera asked with a shrugging gesture. "Like you all weren't thinking it too. `Specially you, Thom."

He started to protest at once, sounding both amused and aghast simultaneously. "I was not—"

"Enough," Ellana growled, pinching the bridge of her nose. After a quick steadying breath, Ellana looked to the sentinels. "Can I trust you both not to repeat everything I've said to Solas?"

"Do you serve Mythal?" Arina asked, her voice and expression tense.

"I serve what I think is best for both the People _and_ the other races of Thedas," Ellana said, deliberately vague before she gave a slight nod. "Right now Mythal's plans sound to me like everyone's best option."

Arina shot a quick glance at Zaron and then both of them dipped their heads in bows. "We will aid you as best we can in hiding whatever you plan," Arina said and then, flashing a smile, she said, "Fen'Asha." _She-Wolf._

 _Oh no,_ Ellana thought with an exasperated sigh. "Not another title, please."

"Why not?" Dorian asked. "You seem to collect them, Inquisitor."

"Herald of Andraste," Sera added with a smirk. "Your worshipfulness. Lady elfy-elfness. Holy lady-bits."

Ignoring their bantering, Ellana pressed on, a note of urgency entering her voice. "I will soon be leaving through the eluvian—in the next day or two I suspect. I don't know how long Solas will keep you all here, but if you've returned to Halamshiral by then I can stop by that eluvian and reactivate it." She drew in a deep breath. "I could use help." _From people who aren't connected to the elven pantheon,_ she thought with a frown.

"We are to accompany you," Arina said. "Mythal instructed us as such."

"I know," Ellana said with a nod. "And I appreciate all the help I can get in this."

Zaron scowled. "There is no place in the new Elvhenan for humans and Qunari."

"I'm Tal-Vashoth, actually," Iron Bull corrected him, unfazed by Zaron's racism.

"I doubt he cares about the semantics," Dorian said sourly.

"Did Mythal tell you that?" Ellana asked, anger making the words curt and clipped. "Because maybe you hadn't noticed, but her new vessel is a _human_ woman. I'd wager Mythal doesn't much care who helps us create a new elven homeland."

The older sentinel muttered unhappily under his breath, averting his gaze. Beside him Arina's expression was cautious but open. Ellana read it as meaning the rogue sentinel trusted her and wouldn't put up an argument. _Good,_ she thought.

"I'll go with you," Dorian agreed immediately, his brown eyes somber. "Though I think it'd be best if we acquired some _weapons_ before we took off." He spread his hands, palms out to show he was unarmed.

"Yeah," Sera grumbled, jerking her chin toward the sentinels behind Ellana. "Those tits made me toss my best bow into the…whatever…in the Crossroads. And all my arrows, yeah? Took me hours to make 'em and you blighters just _whiff."_ She made a swooshing sound with her lips and then clapped her hands together. "Splat. Andraste's ass, where does that shite come out? Cuz I want my stuff back!"

"Speaking of which, I lost a great sword and my shield the same way," Rainier grumbled.

"We'll worry about that later," Ellana reassured them, smiling slightly at their antics. "If it comes down to it, we have plenty of weapons here. I don't know exactly when I—"

When the veilfire torches abruptly dimmed, spluttering with the sudden cold wind that whipped through the corridor, a chill raced through up Ellana's back. Turning her head to gaze down the long hall to where the bright white of the outside sunlight reflected off the pale stone walls. She saw the shadow pass over the entrance, as complete as though the clouds had obscured the sun. But she knew in her gut this was no innocent cloud and only moments later the shadow flowed down the ruined stairs.

The sentinels behind her both inhaled sharply, tensing as if they expected violence. Ellana watched, her jaw clenching and her shoulders hunched with her own rage, as the shadow became a familiar man, walking with the authoritative, deadly stride of a commander. Yet the shadow lingered around him, an unnatural and brooding darkness that made her blood freeze with ice. Even his armored thighs, usually resplendent and shiny, seemed dulled by it. The shadow as much as distance obscured his face.

"Ellana," he called her name in a growl.

She shot Dorian, Iron Bull, Sera, and Rainier one last glance, noting their concerned expressions, then pivoted to face Solas and marched toward him. "Emma lath?" she asked him, her voice mockingly sweet.

"Come with me," he ordered her, cold and stoic. She still couldn't make out his features as she drew closer.

Despite the fury still curdling the acids in her stomach, Ellana followed him as Solas whipped around on his heel and strode to the stairs. The magic emanating from Solas made her skin prickle, the fine hairs all over her body standing upright. The baby kicked against her stomach, making her feel less hungry and more like vomiting with every movement.

They emerged into the sunshine, cheery and innocent, as though taunting the angry intensity between them. Out of the shadows Solas was no longer shrouded in darkness, but his armor didn't gleam the way she expected it and his skin seemed ashen despite the fury she could see smoldering just beneath his blue-gray eyes and in the stubborn set of his lips.

Lyris and Mathrel stood a few dozen meters away, giving them a measure of space while still being within earshot. Ellana glowered at Lyris until the Elvhen woman evaded her gaze, something akin to shame darkening her features.

Solas gripped her by the shoulders then, his hold tight enough to make her wince before she tried to take a step back, to shrug his hands off her. "Let go of me," she spat.

"Do you not understand our position?" Solas asked her, biting each word out. "We cannot achieve our goals if you reveal our plans to our enemies!" His grip tightened, the metal on his fingers biting into her skin. "Why did you betray me, vhenan? Why must you oppose me at every turn? Do you delight in causing me pain?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Ellana snarled, even as she saw the anguish in his gaze. "They are _not_ our enemies. They could be allies if you would but _listen_."

He shook his head, a bitter, scornful look clouding the pain of seconds ago. "Have you forgotten so quickly that our _friends_ were willing to separate us for the rest of our lives by locking me away in a Circle? The same _friend_ who claims she seeks peace through Dorian was the one who ordered my arrest. When she learns I am indeed responsible for the unrest in Thedas, do you _truly_ believe she will welcome you for peace negotiations?"

She swallowed, her throat burning and aching and tight. He was right, as much as she hated admitting it. Stubborn and determined to convince him, Ellana started to defend herself anyway. "There is no harm in trying. I refuse to give up. There _is_ a way our people and the rest of Thedas can coexist." Her fury dissolved at the cold misery and temper still burning in his eyes, despite his ashen skin and oddly subdued armor. "I'm trying to save you, save everyone. It's worth the risk."

"No, it is not," Solas snarled. "If you were to leave my protection now that Dorian and the others know who and what I truly am they will take you and hold you against me." He broke off, swallowing. "I could not bear such a loss, vhenan." Closing his eyes and releasing her, he withdrew a step and let out a shuddering breath.

Then, Solas called to the arcane warriors, "Lyris, Mathrel. Take Ellana to our room and stand watch over her."

Shock made Ellana gape at him a heartbeat, but anger quickly burned through her as the arcane warriors stepped forward to do his bidding. "Solas—don't do this. I came here to fight at your side, but you've done nothing but push me away for weeks. Now I'm to be your prisoner?" She let out a strained, unbelieving laugh. "You cannot be serious."

The look he sent her way was pinched, brow furrowed and eyes crinkled with anguish. "Ir abelas, vhenan. I cannot let your compassion and naivety destroy any chance we have of restoring the People." His shoulders sank. "And I cannot allow you to endanger yourself and our child."

The fury swelling inside her, scorching her blood from within, made her twist violently out of Mathrel's hold as he tried to grip her bicep. She slapped at him with her other hand, incensed. She cursed in elven and then, as Lyris appeared at her other side and took her arm there, the rage dissolved into despair. She would never be able fight the warriors, both of them much stronger than she and fully armored. More importantly, her pregnancy had advanced enough that it impacted her balance and she knew she'd be unlikely to outmaneuver them and could injure herself or the child. Slumping and shaking with emotion, she tried to restrain the surge of tears and failed as she began to sob.

"This isn't right, Solas," she cried. "Please. Don't do this."

"Forgive me, vhenan," he replied, gruff and hoarse with emotion. "But you leave me no choice." To the warriors he said, "Watch over her until I return. Allow no visitors except her family and clan members."

"Until you return?" Ellana asked, brow furrowing and voice trembling. And then, seeing the dullness of his armor and skin and still sensing the tingle of magic over her body emanating from him, the answer solidified in her mind. He had cast some strange magic over himself, preparing for battle. Her throat closed and she made a choking sound, struggling to speak. "You're leaving. Today. Now. The Forgotten Ones."

His expression hardened. "I am. I could not risk telling you. It is too dangerous for you." His head drooped. "I'm sorry."

"You promised me you wouldn't hide things from me," she hissed, shaking violently and feeling sick to her stomach. "You promised not to lie."

"I had to make an exception," he said, scowling. "For your safety. I cannot risk you."

"Liar," she spat. " _Harellen._ "

He cringed at the insult and averted his gaze. "If that is what I must be to ensure you and our child are safe, then so be it." He motioned slightly at the warriors. "Go."

Ellana glared at him as they dragged her off, her skin broiling despite the cold, heated by the rage in her blood. The Dread Wolf was determined to endure the sacrifice of restoring Thedas alone. The realization that she couldn't trust him hit her like a hammer blow to the chest, crushing her heart and twisting like a knife between her ribs. She went limp, sobbing inconsolably all the way back to the tiny cell that functioned as their bedroom.

Inside she curled into a ball, as much as her burgeoning belly allowed without compressing her stomach too much, and willed herself to sleep. Not because she hoped to encounter Mythal, but just to stop feeling or thinking. Just for a few hours of respite…

The darkness closed over her.

________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

"Solas will have to get through me before he can get to you." Iron Bull's voice rumbled, deep and reassuring. He had yet to even break a sweat as he jogged. "And when you mess with the Bull, you get the horns."

"Your horns are most impressive," Mahanon said, puffing with exertion as they crossed the rock bridge. "But the Dread Wolf is a god."

_____________________________

Author's note: Thank you all for the kind comments and excitement over this story! You honor me! <3

* * *


	22. Jailbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan/Mythal reveals Solas lied to Ellana about Corypheus and his orb. This solidifies Ellana's decision to follow Mythal's plans. 
> 
> Ellana has an encounter in a dream this chapter that will seem just like an interesting diversion but is actually setting the stage for a big event later...

Wearing his wolf headdress, Solas watched as the first of his army of three hundred elven mages entered the eluvian. He tried not to think about Ellana and what she'd done. He could not afford to let the events of the morning undo the previous two weeks of effort. The fight ahead would be challenging enough as it was.

Over the next few hours he would lead this army deep into the Crossroads to an eluvian that would only open for him, having been sealed with his blood millennia ago—one of the handful of times he'd been forced to use blood magic. Through that eluvian lay the Forgotten Ones' prison construct. During the time of Elvhenan Solas knew his army would have been little more than an inconvenience for just one of the Forgotten Ones, but millennia locked away from the Fade had weakened the ancient beings.

Like all spirits and demons, the Forgotten Ones embodied intangible things of the waking world—emotions, ideas, thoughts, and desires. Unlike most spirits and demons, the Forgotten Ones did not represent such innocent things as fear, compassion, wisdom, or desire. Instead the Forgotten Ones fed off even darker aspects of the world: destruction and death. But even they, in their maligned way, had some capacity for good. After all, death can only exist when there is life.

In Elvhenan the Forgotten Ones had tempered their destruction with bouts of peace to ensure they never ran out of future victims. They were like shepherds or gardeners, pruning the weeds or culling the sick from a herd. Their primary motivation was always establishing balance between the physical and the intangible. In the world of Solas' time, when the People were immortal, death and disease came primarily from the Forgotten Ones. And though their ways were horrible and frightening, they were not without purpose, which was one of the many reasons Solas had not killed them.

But, as with many other things he hadn't foreseen, Solas had altered that balance and changed the Forgotten Ones by locking them away. By severing them from the Fade and the waking world, he feared their already dark natures had grown twisted into true demons. Denied their purpose for so long, the Forgotten Ones had weakened, but they now wielded their destructive powers with reckless abandon. They were no longer shepherds or gardeners tending the physical world. Instead they'd become embittered, spiteful and gleeful in their wanton destruction. If unleashed they would turn their wrath upon every living thing in Thedas.

Actually, Solas suspected they hadn't even needed to be free to wreak havoc.

It had been their voices, reaching out through the powers of blood magic to bypass the Fade and sing straight into the ignorant ears of Tevinter's mages, urging the destruction of Arlathan. They wove lies, alternate identities, claiming to be the massive dragons slumbering in the abyss: the Old Gods. They'd encouraged the humans to breach the Golden City, knowing the magisters would walk into a trap and return to Thedas carrying the Blight.

The Blight had begun in Elvhenan as the Forgotten Ones' greatest tool, after all. And it was the Blight Solas feared most when attacking them now.

Looking over the forces he'd assembled, Solas kept his arms clasped behind his back and his shoulders squared. They'd formed into three groups of one hundred, each led by one of his Elvhen lieutenants—Zevanni, Abelas, and Mathrel. Beneath them each group of one hundred had sub-commanders: Zevanni's second was Darae, Mathrel's was Zaron, and Abelas' was Var, the Elvhen spy Solas had recalled from the Inquisition's ranks.

Solas had gone to great care to ensure the sentinels were intermixed with his own more trustworthy warriors. He knew the sentinels saw his machinations and the lack of trust it revealed, but there was little he could do. A reckoning would come one day between his people and the sentinels who served Mythal. He had no doubt of that, he just hoped it wouldn't be in the heat of battle.

His three lieutenants stood below him now, their faces tense but serene, even Zevanni's. Unlike the modern elves they commanded, these Elvhen warriors remembered the enormous and terrifying powers of the Forgotten Ones first hand. They'd spent the last two weeks preparing for the assault by creating enchanted talismans from any trinkets the elves had brought with them. The modern elves did not realize they were warding themselves against Blight with an ancient spell long forgotten from the world. It was better if they didn't know the full danger of their enemies, but Solas had personally walked through their ranks that morning to check every individual to ensure they'd cast the magic correctly. He couldn't afford to let even a single mage infected with the Blight slip through the ranks.

Abelas entered after the first troop and Zevanni followed the second. Only a hundred remained. The modern elves had a variety of backgrounds; from Dalish Firsts and Seconds to city elves who'd escaped Circles or apostates who'd never been part of a Circle. Aside form the magic in their veins, the only things they had in common were their lithe figures and elven heritage. Many of them stared at him with awe or murmured entreaties as they passed.

Solas ignored them and fought off the wave of revulsion that made his stomach clench. No matter how many times he tried to convince them otherwise they still believed him a god. He could have foregone the wolf headdress to let them see how unassuming he appeared as just Solas, but the sad, infuriating truth was that he needed to inspire that awe and devotion now more than ever.

Once the Veil came down he could prove to them their devotion hadn't been misplaced. He would never claim godhood, but he knew his power, fully restored, would crush their enemies so thoroughly he might as well be a god.

When the last group of one hundred had passed through, leaving only their leader, Mathrel, waiting before the mirror, Solas leapt down from the wall. Landing lightly on his feet, he asked, "Are you ready, falon?"

The grim warrior nodded. "Fen'Harel enansal."

"Have you bidden Lyris goodbye?" he asked, hesitating a moment as he wrestled with the desire to ask how Ellana was. It twisted inside him, gnawing like an animal. He quashed it.

"I have." Mathrel's dark eyes narrowed with something akin to concern. "Ir abelas, but I must caution you, Fen'Harel. Expectant mothers are often emotionally unstable. You must not judge her too harshly for—"

Solas cut him off with a small wave of his hand. "I appreciate your concern and your wisdom in this matter," he said, admitting Mathrel did have more experience in dealing with a pregnant partner. "But now is not the time."

"You are correct." Mathrel dipped his chin in acknowledgment. "Apologies."

Gesturing to the mirror, Solas said, "Let us begin." Mathrel pivoted and strode through the mirror.

Alone, Solas let out a long, uneven breath and then, steeling himself, followed Mathrel through the eluvian.

____________________________________

Ellana found herself bathed in warmth, curled tightly in a lightless space. Walls enclosed her, soft and malleable, in every direction. She should have felt claustrophobic in such a tight space, but instead she was weightless and carefree. The strangeness of this environment struck her, but it seemed as though the ether of this existence soothed her from the outside in, as if with her every breath she drew in tranquility.

Except she realized she _wasn't_ breathing, just opening her mouth. There was a taste on her tongue, tangy and salty and unfamiliar. And through the complete darkness of this tiny, enclosed world of weightlessness and warmth, she heard a comforting drumming beat echoing through it all. The sound was dull, as if muffled, passing through liquid.

 _I must be dreaming,_ she realized. But what kind of dream was this?

When she stretched her limbs against the flesh-like walls enclosing her they stretched and then gave way, light spilling into her eyes. Weight settled onto her shoulders again and she blinked, eyes adjusting to the dull, diffuse light.

She recognized the raw Fade—pools of stagnant water, gray-green stone and tawny sand with spindly red stalks growing along the edges, coated in a slime. Grimacing, Ellana turned in a circle, taking in the Fade around her and tensing with confusion. _What's going on?_

She saw a wispy shadow nearby and flinched from it, heart pounding as she expected it to attack. Her hands moved automatically over her shoulder, seeking a bow and an arrow to nock in it and finding nothing with a spurt of panic. The shadow flowed closer to her and she yelped, scrambling through the uneven, lumpy terrain of the Fade trying to evade it. But the shadow moved too quickly, lurching at her. She cringed, bracing for impact—but the spirit passed through her.

In the heartbeat that the spirit crossed through her, Ellana felt curiosity buzz in her mind, briefly replacing her fear. Then the wisp was behind her and she whirled to watch it, wary but perplexed. From what she'd gathered from Solas, most friendly or neutral spirits that were too weak or simple to speak chose to emulate something from a dreamer's memories to communicate. And usually they appeared as greenish specters or orbs of light. This spirit chose darkness rather than light, which had alarmed her immediately, yet it had done nothing hostile and the sensation she'd gotten from it seemed harmless enough.

"Can you speak?" she asked it.

It floated toward her again, moving into her face. Ellana backed away from it, trying to bat it away. Her hands cut through it, tearing thin tendrils of its essence away as if she could scatter it like mist. It was warm to the touch as it passed through her again, leaving her with that same curiosity tingling her skin.

"Please," she said, whipping around and trying to evade the shadowy spirit as it immediately turned to make another pass through her. "Stop that." The spirit hovered a moment longer in front of her face when she spoke, as if observing her, then darted forward to pass through her again.

Ellana groaned, batting at the spirit though that proved just as useless as before. The shadowy, shapeless form continued to dash around her, like an oversized and annoying gnat. Trying to ignore it, she started walking, making her way through the mixture of sand and stagnant, oily puddles. The sound of the splashing as she walked drew the spirit's attention and, as if easily distracted, it began to circle her feet and brush against the sand and the pools.

 _Strange,_ she thought.

Rounding a corner of green-gray stone, Ellana and the shadow spirit reached a broad, open space, flat except for the many small depressions filled with water. Greenish ether rose from the ground in ribbons, swirling on invisible air currents. In the sky, craggy rock islands floated in the bleak orange-gray sky, making Ellana remember the Crossroads. Far in the distance and high in the heavens, Ellana saw the foreboding spires of the Black City, gloomy and inaccessible as always. Scattered over the plain ahead were pale white stones and Ellana recognized them as being elven ruins, likely from Hellathen Hamin. A statue of the Dread Wolf sat, partly submerged in the sand and muck; the stone looked slimy.

The shadow spirit zoomed away from her, circling the Dread Wolf statue before losing interest and flying back to her. Again it passed through her, filling her briefly with that same bubbling curiosity. This time she heard a sound as it made another pass, slower now: the steady muffled beating from the dark, weightless dream. Ellana watched it, eyes narrowed as she steeled herself for its next dive through her again.

Then movement drew her gaze to the plain again. Staring out into the open space, Ellana saw faint shapes in the pale green of spirits that had materialized into bipedal shapes. The slim, gracefulness of their lithe bodies even while armored told her they were elves. Dozens of them moved over the plain, voices murmuring just a tad too quiet for her to make out any of the words.

 _A memory of the past,_ Ellana thought. This was just the sort of thing Solas claimed he sought out in ruins.

The shadow spirit sped away into the plain, streaking fast to zip through the incorporeal figures of the memory. The spirits reenacting the scene seemed to glimmer at the shadow's touch, flickering a moment, but they didn't falter. After a few passes through one spirit, the shadow flew to another and repeated the process.

A small splash behind her made Ellana gasp, whipping around to look behind her. As she recognized Morrigan she relaxed. "Morrigan," she said with a nod in greeting. "I didn't expect to find you. This isn't our usual meeting place."

The witch cast her a strange, almost wary look as she moved to stand at Ellana's side and overlook the plain. "My apologies, Inquisitor. I did not dare reshape the Fade until I knew your companion posed no threat." She gestured out into the distance at the spirit figures still walking and murmuring amongst themselves with the shadow flitting between them like a bird seeking handouts.

"My companion?" Ellana asked, frowning. "The shadow spirit? It seems to be harmless. Annoying, but harmless."

Morrigan smirked. "Annoying but harmless?" She laughed. "`Tis an apt description, I suspect, but I doubt you would say such if you understood what it is."

Ellana shook her head. "And what is it, exactly?"

Morrigan's smirk widened into a full smile. "Mythal whispers to me that it is a Dreamer—but a child." At Ellana's shocked stare, mouth agape, Morrigan laughed again. "The presence I sensed with you when we met earlier, it was the child entering the Fade, not Fen'Harel or one of his servants."

"How can you be sure that this is…" Ellana stared out into the plain, one hand covering her mouth as she remembered trying to swat the shadow away. "I hit it—I thought it was trying to attack me…"

"I doubt it was bothered in the slightest," Morrigan said with a shrug. She was silent a moment, golden eyes glazing as she tilted her head, apparently listening to the goddess dwelling inside her. "Mythal assures me that only another Dreamer mage could harm its spirit here. Even demons cannot tempt a being as simple as an unborn child. It wants for nothing, understands nothing. I suspect it shaped the Fade unconsciously until you happened to dream with it and introduce it to a world outside the womb."

"Are we in the raw Fade because of my child?" Ellana asked, shaking her head in consternation. She felt dizzy with this bizarre new discovery.

"I…cannot say," Morrigan admitted, frowning. "But Dreamers access the raw Fade as others cannot, so it is possible. However, it could also be the magic of the Anchor." Grinning, Morrigan chuckled. "Is it truly so shocking to learn this, Inquisitor? Your child _is_ the offspring of the last whole and free Evanuris after all. Mythal tells me that her own children manifested this way in ancient Elvhenan. She suspects your lover will be most pleased—though I doubt you will wish to share this knowledge with him after what I am about to reveal to you."

Ellana gnashed her teeth, the heat of fury making her skin flush red. She'd tried to sleep to escape reality, but Morrigan's reminder brought it all back to her, crashing onto her like an avalanche. "I am his prisoner," she growled, hands clenching into fists at her side. "I will not be able to escape. Solas has placed me under guard."

In the plain ahead of them the shadow had frozen amidst the elven figures, its shapeless form flowing like mists, growing tumultuous. It hovered and then rose into the air above the plain, buzzing around a floating stalagmite like a giant moth.

"I am aware," Morrigan said, sounding coy. "But he will not be able to stop you from leaving if that is your choice. I have commanded Arina to aid you should you wish it."

"How?" Ellana asked, frowning with confusion. "Arina must still be awake, guarding Dorian and the others. How can you be in communication with her?" How had Morrigan known that Solas had imprisoned her as well? Ellana stiffened, wariness sending a chill arcing through her.

The witch tilted her head slightly and grimaced as if in pain. "I… _she_ can reach out from the Fade to any of the sentinels. Because of their vallaslin."

"They are slaves to her then," Ellana muttered. For all her fury with Solas at the moment she had to admit that he remained loyal to his own principles. The power of vallaslin to compel servants and warriors and whole armies had a dark appeal to Ellana as she considered how useful they'd have been in dealing with her own Inquisition. But of course she would never stoop to such a low—though it was easy to see the appeal.

"They are not slaves," Morrigan snapped, sounding offended. "Mythal did not use such bindings the way most of the Evanuris did. Her vallaslin allow a connection, that is all." She huffed. "`Tis unimportant, Inquisitor. What _is_ important is that you must understand Fen'Harel has long since broken your trust. It is time you learned the truth."

With her heart whooshing in her ears, Ellana wrapped her arms around herself and sucked in a deep breath. "You don't have to pour poison in my ear to make me go to the Dales, Morrigan. I've already made my decision."

"I understand," Morrigan said, lips twisting downward. "But Mythal insists that you must know that Fen'Harel has been a bane to Thedas ever since he woke from his long sleep. She knows you will waver as his lover and mother of his child and she fears your affection will blind you, leading to disaster for us all."

Striding ahead, shaking her head as if she could dislodge Morrigan's voice, Ellana called out over her shoulder, "I don't want to hear it."

"Fen'Harel gave Corypheus his orb," Morrigan shouted at her. "Did you know that, Inquisitor? Did you know that the explosion at the conclave, the former Divine's death, the Anchor that pains you—`twas all his doing."

Ellana froze, staring out at the plain and the memory still playing out with the shadow now watching from its elevated position, unmoving. Slowly, with a frown, she pivoted to face Morrigan. "Solas told me the orb was stolen and fell into Corypehus' hands."

The witch's smile was hard and cold as she shook her head. "No, Inquisitor. Your lover's spies passed the orb off to Corypheus. They tracked him, spied on him, and fed the information to Fen'Harel so that when Corypheus made his move and unlocked the orb, the Dread Wolf would be onsite to reclaim the Anchor and the orb together. He would have destroyed Thedas that very day by tearing down the Veil."

Shaking with rage even as the air seemed to have been squeezed out of her lungs by the pain and grief of betrayal, Ellana stammered, trying to deny it. "Why would he do such a thing? He _despised_ Corypheus…"

"He woke near death from uthenera," Morrigan answered. "He planned to have Corypheus unlock the orb and die in the process, but he miscalculated on multiple fronts."

"How could you know this?" Ellana asked, her voice thick and breathy. Her stomach clenched and she swallowed, feeling as though she might vomit, though she wasn't sure she could do it in the Fade.

"He sought Mythal out for guidance in dreams," Morrigan answered. "She disapproved of his plans and refused to help him."

"He lied to me at Halamshiral," Ellana whispered, more to herself than to Morrigan. Her eyes shut tightly as she covered her face with both hands, her throat closing as she tried to fight off a sob. _He broke his promise from the start…_

She felt a tingle on her skin and heard the faint, muffled thumping of the shadow—her child, if she believed Morrigan and Mythal—and raised her head in time to see it darting back and forth nearby. When it passed through her again and swung around, circling, it had begun to flicker, the dark mists twining and coiling on each other. It hesitated well clear of her, as if observing her with caution now. Could it sense her distress?

"Will you serve Mythal, Inquisitor?" Morrigan asked, her quiet words clear and crisp despite the distance between them. "Fen'Harel may yet follow with you leading the sentinels. That is Mythal's hope, and why I have approached you."

Ellana shook, holding herself and fighting the miserable weakness of despair at the betrayal. Her eyes followed every little movement of the shadow as it wove back and forth. She felt the muffled thumping—a heartbeat—pulsing through the air. "You deserve a father who won't lie to you, little one," she whispered at it, her eyes burning though no tears formed.

"Inquisitor?" Morrigan pressed and then, softer now, "Ellana?"

Letting out a long, shuddering breath, Ellana looked to Morrigan and frowned. "I told you, I will go to the Dales. Help me escape Solas and I will do as Mythal advises." Pausing, she assessed the witch, her brow furrowing. "And in return Mythal can safely remove or stabilize the Anchor, correct? I won't be able to help anyone if it kills me."

"Indeed," Morrigan said with a meaningful nod. "I will meet you in the Dales, Inquisitor. Try not to leave me waiting."

_________________________________

For an hour after waking Ellana had waited in her bedroom—what had become her cell, actually—sitting in silence on the furs over the pallet she and Solas had slept on just that very night. A Dalish elf still bearing her vallaslin arrived with stew, thick and meaty, but Ellana could only manage a few bites before her throat seemed to close or the food rose back up her esophagus like liquid fire.

"You must eat," Lyris scolded her from just outside the cell. There were no bars, no doors, no obstructions except Lyris herself. Ellana knew the warrior wouldn't hurt her but would never allow her to pass and likely had a paralyzing spell or a sleeping draught to force her to behave.

"I'm not hungry," she said, voice thick with anger.

Lyris sighed, shoulders sagging. The sound carried the weight of the unhappiness Ellana could see darkening the warrior's face in the golden torchlight. "Fen'Harel is doing only what he must," she said gently. "Mathrel would do the same to me if I refused to stop fighting when—"

"I would've stayed," Ellana interrupted her, glaring viciously. "But he didn't ask. He didn't tell me. He's shut me out and _lied_ to me." She broke off, choking on both the fire of indigestion in her throat and the intense ache of her emotion. Closing her eyes, she laid the hand not holding the bowl of stew over her abdomen and tried to steady her breathing. Envisioning the baby, remembering the raw curiosity she'd felt as the shadow of its consciousness passed through her in the Fade, helped calm her.

"He loves you," Lyris murmured, but the conviction in her voice was unmistakable. "I have never seen him so devoted to another, and he has had many lovers, Ellana. But he will always do what he must for the People. He carries a terrible weight on his shoulders." She paused a moment and then added, "I believe you are the only one who lessens that burden. Do not add to it with useless strife."

"But what he's doing will kill him," Ellana protested, the words emerging strangled from her throat. "There's a better way—but he won't listen."

"Mythal's way?" Lyris asked, growling. "You cannot trust her."

Ellana opened her mouth to reply but then the sound of footsteps clapping on the stone in the corridor drew both women's attention. The warrior glanced over her shoulder, scowling at whoever approached. Ellana's heart took off racing, her body breaking out in a sweat immediately, certain this must be Arina come to rescue her.

"Fen'Harel ordered no visitors," Lyris grumbled, pivoting to face them.

"He's with her clan," answered a voice Ellana recognized as Arina. "Says her Keeper sent him with a gift from Fen'Harel."

Leaving the stew on the pallet, Ellana rose to her feet and stepped toward the narrow doorway, trying to see around Lyris' armored form. In the shadowed, dim lighting of the corridor she saw two figures, one feminine that she recognized as Arina and another taller shape behind her that was also familiar. She squinted, trying to make out his features, but Lyris shifted, blocking her view.

"And Fen'Harel wished for _you_ to bring the gift to _his_ lover?" the warrior asked with a shake of her head. "Do not insult my intelligence."

And then, suddenly, there was a shout and a _whump_ sound. Ellana cringed backward, her skin tingling with the nearness of magic. Suddenly the air was thick with sparkling dust. One whiff of its bitter taste revealed what it was—a rogue's knockout bomb. Ellana clapped a hand over her nose and scrambled to cover the lower half of her face with her scarf as she saw the shadowy shapes of two figures in the hall clashing, heard metal clang and magic sizzle. Then a shouted curse came from Lyris as the warrior coughed.

Another shape moved through the dust motes, distorting the golden torchlight as it entered the small room. Ellana reached out to grasp the person, guessing at once it'd be Arina, turned invisible. When her hands met with the invisible rogue Arina reappeared with another _whump_ sound, grabbing Ellana's arm. "Come with me," she ordered, her voice muffled through her own mask.

They jogged from the cell and into the hallway, Ellana fighting off a wave of dizziness from the knockout bomb. She saw Lyris had fallen to her knees outside the cell, her shoulders heaving and her head drooped. The hilt of her spectral blade was still clasped in one fist, her blond hair disheveled from where it'd slipped from her tight bun. An elven man in full Dalish armor stood in front of her, an axe in his hand and his body tensed, ready to fight. Like Arina he wore a mask over his nose and mouth, but closer now Ellana recognized him at once.

"Lerand?" she asked, agape under her scarf.

The blond-haired warrior whipped around to her and started jogging with them. "Great to see you again, Lana!" She couldn't see his mouth but could hear the grin in his voice.

"We have little time," Arina scolded, tugging insistently on Ellana's arm. "We must get through the eluvian before Lyris comes after us."

"My friends," Ellana protested, tugging against the rogue's hold. "From Halamshiral. We have to—"

"Samhel and Mahanon are bringing them," Lerand answered, hurrying along just behind her. His hand moved to the small of her back, ushering her up the ruined stairs.

They emerged into the courtyard. Ellana's eyes smarted in the bright sunshine and she winced but didn't slow. The fields of tents and campfires where their army had been camped now appeared deserted. A cold hand gripped at her heart inside her chest. _Solas has taken them,_ she realized and then pushed the thought aside, unable to dwell on it now.

They hurried through the courtyard and into the ruins proper. She shivered in the chillier air aboveground, breathing hard and fast and grimacing at how uncomfortable the sharp movements were on her rounded belly. She clutched at her abdomen as they jogged, winding their way toward the eluvian with Arina at the lead and Lerand at her side. When they reached it, hopping down into the collapsed corridor where the mirror thrummed with magic, glowing blue, Ellana heard Iron Bull shout, "Hey there, Boss!"

Panting and grinning, she found all four of her friends standing tensely around the mirror with Mahanon and Lerand's older brother Samhel nearby. Her eyes quickly took in the new, elven weapons they each carried and recognized them as being of Dalish design specifically. Apparently Lerand, Mahanon, and Samhel had done more than just rescue her friends, they'd armed them too.

"You made it," she said, laughing even as her eyes stung with tears of relief. She tried to suppress the emotion, irritated that she couldn't go any length of time without crying these days.

"This is some jailbreak you've managed, old girl," Dorian told her with a warm smile. "Good to have you back."

"We must go," Arina ordered, pushing at Lerand and then Samhel and Mahanon. "Through the mirror!"

"What about Abelas?" Ellana asked, looking around with a frown. "Morrigan said he was to come w—"

"He will join us soon," Arina said, pushing her again. "Go, now! Lyris will already be coming after us."

They sprang for the mirror, leaping through it one by one, making the eluvian hum with magic each time. Ellana burst through the mirror and out the other side, heart pounding and body shuddering. As the groaning song of the Crossroads filled her ears, so too did the crackle of the Anchor as it flared to life. Pain spurted through her hand and she cried out, stumbling to her knees as she cradled it.

"Lana," Lerand shouted, his hand on her shoulder, trying to haul her to her feet. "Are you all right?

Others quickly clamored around her, calling her name. Hands gripped her beneath her arms, lifting her. Gnashing her teeth, Ellana forced her shaking legs to bear her weight, though the Crossroads still spun around her. "I'm fine…" but panic fluttered in her chest, as strong as her baby's kicks. Why had the Anchor flared like that? It usually only reacted to Solas' magic or other ancient Elvhen magic. Had the eluvian's magic been enough to set it off now?

The sentinel rogue was at her side then. "Can you run?" Arina asked, her face pinched with something like horror.

"Not very well," Ellana retorted with a scowl, still cradling her left hand as the Anchor's glow began to gradually dissipate. "I'm pregnant, remember?"

"Let me carry her," Iron Bull said, stepping forward.

Arina's lips curled and her eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you," she said.

Ellana pushed the rogue away, growling with the press of frustration and pain. "I _do_." She lurched toward Iron Bull and he caught her, taking her into his arms as easily as he would a child. With a little grunt, he grinned down at her, and asked, "Comfy?"

"Grateful is more like it," Ellana admitted, wrapping an arm around his neck for support. She tucked the left one, still aching along the Anchor mark, against her rounded belly.

"One of you," Arina shouted, jerking a finger to Dorian and then Mahanon. "Can you deactivate it?"

Mahanon just stared at the rogue, baffled, but Dorian sniffed. "Yes, since you asked so nicely." He strode to the mirror and thrust out one palm, a bluish glow passing into the mirror from his hand. A second later the mirror went dark.

"This way," Arina yelled, rushing ahead with all the dexterous speed of any well-trained, knife-wielding rogue. They took a narrow rock bridge leading left, heading for the next nearest island. Everyone moved after her at once but the elf-friendly nature of the Crossroads sped Arina's pace and soon she and Sera had both outpaced everyone else, though Mahanon, Lerand, and Samhel chose to lag behind them, deliberately lingering near Iron Bull.

"How are you, Lana?" her brother asked from where he trotted along just ahead of Iron Bull.

"Never better," she bluffed, trying to reassure him. "Though I'm guessing this is all a little strange for you."

He laughed. "You could say that, yeah. We only just arrived around dawn." Shooting her a worried look, he asked, "Please tell me I haven't just killed myself by betraying the Dread Wolf."

"I…" She frowned, clinging tighter to Iron Bull, trying to muster up the strength to believe she could still trust that she knew _anything_ about her lover with certainty. The constant jarring bounce of each step the massive warrior took sent her head spinning and her stomach clenching.

"Fenedhis," Mahanon cursed, facing forward again. "Mythal have mercy."

"Solas will have to get through me before he can get to you." Iron Bull's voice rumbled, deep and reassuring. He had yet to even break a sweat as he jogged. "And when you mess with the Bull, you get the horns."

"Your horns are most impressive," Mahanon said, puffing with exertion as they crossed the rock bridge. "But the Dread Wolf is a god."

"He's not a god," Ellana corrected irritably with a groan. "How many times do we—" She cut herself off, choking on the words because even now she knew she was thinking of Solas, defending him or making sure others understood him the way he wanted. Starting again she said, "How many times do _I_ have to tell everyone that?"

"I thought you said he was?" Iron Bull blinked his single blue eye at her.

"No," she grumbled. "He's just a very powerful mage. A _very_ powerful mage." Closing her eyes, she groaned again. "I'm not sure I can take much more of this bouncing. I'm probably going to vomit."

"Warn me first," Iron Bull said with a grunt. "If you puke on my shoulder guard I'll never get the smell out."

Their group crossed from one rock island to another, Arina and Sera still in the lead. Ellana squirmed in Iron Bull's arms, craning her neck to gaze behind him toward the island they'd left in the distance. She could still just see the eluvian, still dark. Then it lit up, glowing a cerulean blue, and, as if it knew she watched it, the mirror rippled and Lyris stepped through. The growing distance between them made the arcane warrior look tiny, but Ellana knew Lyris had the advantage in this place. As an Elvhen mage, she could Fade step over the gaps while most of their party couldn't or didn't know how.

She turned and shouted to Arina. "Lyris is behind us!"

The rogues leading their group quickened the pace, though neither Sera nor Arina glanced back at Ellana's call. Feeling bile in her throat as her heart pounded, Ellana kept turning to stare behind them as best she could over Iron Bull's bulky, muscled shoulder. Lyris had indeed seen them and came streaking in their direction, Fade stepping a gap and then trotting onto a bridge to cross a longer expanse. Apparently there were some gaps that were just too wide even for Elvhen mages. It didn't seem to matter, however, as the arcane warrior had already crossed an enormous distance in half the time it'd taken them. She would catch them unless they reached an eluvian soon.

Up ahead, as if Arina had read Ellana's mind, she heard the rogue shouting for Dorian. "Shemlen! Mage! I need you!"

As Iron Bull stepped off the latest rock bridge, Dorian edged past him, muttering under his breath, "Yes, yes, of course you do. Everyone needs me." Mahanon and the Dalish warriors stepped aside, allowing Dorian through.

"Let me down," Ellana said, squirming again.

"You got it, Boss." Iron Bull eased her down feet first and Ellana found with a cool burst of relief that her legs bore her weight easily now. She took a spot near Rainier at the edge of the rock bridge, staring out into the void at where Lyris had reached the island next to their own. In only another few heartbeats she'd be at the edge of that island and could likely Fade step directly over the gap.

"Any tips on how to fight her?" Rainier asked, brandishing a sword with a hilt that had halla horns twining over the hand guards.

"We try reasoning with her first," Ellana said, risking a glance over her shoulder to where Dorian now stood beside Arina and Sera. Her keen ears heard the sentinel rogue shouting the passphrase Dorian needed.

"Ellana," Lyris shouted over the gap at them. "Stop this foolishness. Come back with me, I beg you!" She'd paused at the edge of the island, beside the rock bridge connecting the two solid landmasses. The stiff set of her body, legs splayed in a fighting stance with knees slightly bent, told Ellana she was ready to fight.

"I can't do that," Ellana yelled back to her, the words hoarse and strained through her pain. "I won't help Solas kill himself and destroy Thedas."

"You're being deceived," Lyris called, shaking her head and baring her teeth. "Mythal will use you, as she uses everyone."

"Solas used me," Ellana roared back at the warrior, snarling. Her fists clenched, nostrils flaring as she breathed. "To fight the Qunari. To recruit the Dalish clans." Thrusting her left hand up into the air, displaying the still glowing and painful Anchor, she yelled, "And someday he'll use me for this too. At least Mythal is honest."

"Honest?" Lyris shot back, the disgust in her voice making her already deep voice manlike and gravelly. "What do you know of Mythal, Ellana? Truly?"

"I know she aided us against Corypheus," Ellana growled. "I know she has told me the truth about Fen'Harel being the one who _caused_ the Breach and the conclave explosion when he gave that monster his orb."

"Solas did _what?"_ Rainier asked at her side, gawking.

"Shit," Iron Bull snarled and then muttered something in Qunlat.

From the eluvian Ellana heard Dorian shout, "Cry havoc in the moonlight." Out of the corner of one eye she saw the dark eluvian light up, glowing blue. Then, immediately, it began to thrum as Sera ran through it.

"Through the mirror," Arina shrieked, desperate. "Ellana!"

"Ellana," Mahanon called for her as well.

"Go," she yelled at him without breaking eye contact with Lyris. "All of you, start going through the mirror."

"Not without you, Lana," Lerand said behind her, the note of devotion in his voice making her shiver even as she gritted her teeth, steeling herself against whatever might come next.

Her left hand opened and closed at her side, the pain still cutting through it like a knife, but Ellana blocked it out. Sweat lined her forehead as she held her palm outward, letting Lyris see it. "Don't make me use this," she begged.

"You're making a mistake," Lyris said, hissing the words. Her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing and glimmering with emotion. "Mythal's help always carries a price. Fen'Harel may have misled you or held back the truth but—"

"No," Ellana shouted shrilly, almost choking on the word. "He _lied_ to me."

Lyris shook her head, her expression warping with something akin to devastation. "Please, do not do this. Fen'Harel needs you. And you need him. He's the only one who can save your life when the Anchor destabilizes. He has his agents in Tevinter scouring the whole Imperium hoping to find something to save you."

"Mythal will help me," Ellana said, though her heart pounded and the sweat dousing her skin had turned icy cold.

"Will she?" Lyris growled, flashing a hard, humorless grin. "Or is she just telling you what you want to hear?"

"I say they're all full of shit," Iron Bull snarled, brandishing an axe that had a motif of ivy leaves spiraling up it. Another elven design.

"Don't listen to her, Ellana," Arina yelled from beside the eluvian.

"I told you to go through the mirror," Ellana snapped. She started to back up, pushing Lerand with her right hand to make room for her as she went. Samhel broke from the line of warriors and sprinted for the mirror next, rushing through it. Iron Bull charged after the Dalish warrior next now that there was more room, but Rainier and Lerand stayed with Ellana as she backed off the rock bridge and onto the island, gradually distancing themselves from the arcane warrior.

Lyris took a step onto the rock bridge, but she'd dropped her battle ready stance. Now her hunched shoulders and stiff steps revealed only the bitterness of defeat. "Think of your child, Ellana," she pleaded. "It will need Fen—" She broke off, shaking her head once and starting again. "Your child will need its father. There is no one else who can teach it to control the powers it will possess."

"Then it's a shame Solas is determined to kill himself restoring all of Thedas," Ellana retorted only to shudder, biting back the sob that tried to wrench its way out of her chest. "Fenedhis," she whimpered, too quiet for Lyris to hear. "I'm doing this for _him._ " Even after he'd lied to her about the orb, distanced himself from her and hidden the full, ugly breadth of his actions in Tevinter and across Thedas.

 _He loves you,_ Lyris had told her. Would he understand why she'd done this? The baby kicked against her ribs and she gripped her belly, gritting her teeth as she struggled not to break out into inconsolable sobs.

"Ellana," Lyris said again, taking another two steps onto the bridge. " _Please."_

She raised her head, sucking in a wavering breath, her left hand still glowing as she held it aloft. "Go help him fight the Forgotten Ones, Lyris," she said, her lips trembling. "Tell him I'm doing this to save _him_ and Thedas. Tell him I love him. Please. Just go."

Lyris had frozen on the rock bridge, staring at Ellana with her jaw clenched and her brow furrowed. "Tell me where he can find you," she begged, quiet enough that Ellana almost didn't hear it. "Tell me and I will go."

Shuddering, Ellana almost collapsed with relief. Her left hand flopped down at her side as she nodded. "We will be in the Dales. I'm not sure where."

Lyris sighed, shoulders slumping even more. "So be it." Then, without another word, she pivoted on her heel and Fade stepped back to the other island, jogging away from them.

"A reasonable woman indeed," Rainier commented, sheathing his sword. "I'm glad of it."

Lerand wrapped an arm around her waist and ducked beneath Ellana's other arm, taking her weight onto his shoulders. She buckled with the threat of attack now gone, her chest burning and aching with grief. Every breath hurt.

Mahanon rushed to her other side, helping her as well as they made their way to the eluvian. Through her despair Ellana managed to hold her breath, steeling herself for the blast of pain she expected from the Anchor. The cold magic of the eluvian passed over her like a blast of water and for a heartbeat she was weightless and she recalled the simple comfort and peace of the strange dream she'd had before meeting the shadowy consciousness of her child in the Fade.

Then they stumbled out into the waking world, into a dim, dank space that smelled of mildew and mud and was lit only by veilfire sconces lining the cracked, ancient stone walls. The Anchor crackled, lighting up brighter and streaking with pain, tendrils of it shooting up into her elbow. Ellana cried out, shaking body wide as her legs gave out. Lerand and Mahanon kept her upright, though both of them called to her with panic tingeing their voices.

Through blurry, tear-laden eyes, Ellana saw Sera, Samhel, Iron Bull, and several other elven figures wearing the now familiar gleaming metal of sentinel armor. One of them, hooded and imposing, strode toward her. Even through her pain Ellana recognized Abelas.

"Keep her up," he instructed Lerand and Mahanon. Then he reached for her left hand and forced her fingers to open so he could grip it in his own. Sizzling pain shot through Ellana's hand and she screamed, jerking against his hold.

"Lana!" Lerand cried.

"Fenedhis," Mahanon yelled, his voice blustery with rage. "What are you _doing_?" He released Ellana's waist and shot a blast of ice at Abelas, but the sentinel blocked it without pause or effort.

And then, before anyone else could retaliate, Abelas let go of her and Ellana sucked in a shaky, wet breath, shoulders heaving. The Anchor no longer glowed and the pain had ceased, leaving only the faint tingle of magic.

"You bastard," Iron Bull growled. "The fuck was that?"

"Yeah," Sera snarled. "Start talking or I feed you arrows."

"I'm all right," Ellana said, hoarse and weak. "It's…better."

"My apologies," Abelas said, speaking to everyone in the dank little space. "The Anchor collects magic. I merely discharged it in a safe manner."

"And how did you know to do that?" Mahanon asked, growling.

Abelas arched a brow. "Fen'Harel anticipated a moment such as this one and taught most of Mythal's sentinels and his warriors what would be required." His cold, golden eyes drilled into Ellana as she struggled to catch her breath and recover, but after a beat his expression softened. "I am sorry for causing you pain."

Ellana couldn't find the breath or the energy to answer him. His words echoed through her mind like a gong: _Fen'Harel anticipated this._ She'd thought she left the Game at Halamshiral, but in truth she'd just changed playing fields. Worse, she wasn't even a player. She was a pawn.

Exhausted, Ellana let her eyes drift shut. The world went black.

__________________________________________

**Next Chapter:**

Glancing to the sentinels watching from behind Abelas, lit green by veilfire, Ellana asked, "The Veil is thin here?"

"Indeed," Abelas said. "You intend to do it here." It wasn't a question.

"Do what?" Dorian asked, still gawking. "Tear open a rift so we can have a nice romantic stroll with some rage demons? That sounds like a lovely end to a very exciting day. Just wait here a moment and I'll fetch Iron Bull so we can enjoy it together." He broke off scoffing with a snarl. "Have you gone mad, Ellana?"


	23. The Black Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas leads his elven army to the prison he constructed for the Forgotten Ones. Ellana and friends experiment with poking holes in the Veil.

For nearly half a day Solas marched his army deeper into the Crossroads, leading the way by Fade stepping smaller gaps and teleporting in a flurry of purple-black flames over the largest expanses. When they encountered islands that had no bridges, no visible way forward at all, Solas crossed the gaps and created a path, _willing_ it into existence with nothing but his own mana and strength. The modern elves close enough to witness this gawked, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Abelas' group was first behind him and for the first two hours of the journey through the Crossroads Solas found the leader of the sentinels behind him, grim and focused. As the army progressed forward Solas and Abelas would stand watch in silence, observing the mages. Then, knowing the way ahead was clear, Solas parted ways with Abelas and checked in with the next group of one hundred, led by Zevanni.

As the most powerful mage in his forces—second only to himself—Zevanni had been the one to carry the foci. Standing near her made Solas' skin prickle, alive with the nearness of the ancient magic. He hoped not to have to use any of its power against the Forgotten Ones, but couldn't risk failure by leaving it behind. Her brown eyes were feral, alight with the promise of the battle to come.

"Fen'Harel," she greeted him from where she stood atop a small hillock on the island her troupe was currently walking across. "Have you come for the foci?" she asked and then, lascivious, grinned at him. "Or did you need release before the fight?"

Solas knew her question was as serious as it was playful. He'd sought her out in Elvhenan before dangerous battles before, eager to lose himself momentarily in the pleasure of another's body, but now the idea made him scowl with disapproval. "No," he told her, blank and to the point. "Give me the foci."

Unfazed by his blunt rejection, Zevanni reached one armored hand into the large pouch at her waist. She grimaced as she produced the foci. It sparked, yellowish magic dancing along her fingers for a moment as she proffered it to him.

Taking it, Solas felt the magical caress and heard whispered words in elven echoing inside his mind. The foci ceased its sparking at his touch, going dormant. It recognized something in him, knowing he was an Evanuris, and at once became obedient.

Staring at it for a beat, Solas wondered for the thousandth time how Ellana had managed to destroy his own orb. Even with the magic mostly discharged from it after not one but _two_ breaches, the orb should have been impossible for her or anyone other than a very powerful mage to destroy. Instead it'd crumbled when she dropped it in the battle after using its magic to close the tear in the breach.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Solas tucked the foci into a hidden pocket inside the wolf headdress he still wore. "Thank you, falon," he said to Zevanni with a nod.

"Why have you been so reluctant to hold it?" Zevanni asked quietly. "You're the only one who can use the damned thing without it scalding you." As if to emphasize she shook out the hand she'd used to hold the orb, discomfort twisting her mouth. When he remained silent she filled in the answer for him. "It's the Inquisitor, isn't it? The foci's magic is like a bad smell and lingers on you." She smirked. "You can't very well climb inside her reeking of the very magic that will slowly kill her through the Anchor."

He shot her a glare, though with the wolf headdress obscuring much of his face in shadow she wouldn't see it. Still, she sensed it well enough and grinned.

Then, abruptly, Zevanni sobered. Her brow knit and her brown eyes hardened. "The sentinels move against us, Fen'Harel. You cannot trust them. The shem-elves are far more trustworthy and lead well when educated. You should kill the sentinels before they can betray us. We don't need them."

"Should they betray us I will end them," Solas promised, letting a cruel, tightlipped smile curl over his lips. "But until then they are a valuable tool when I have little at my disposal."

Zevanni arched an eyebrow and motioned at the mages still filing past on the rock island below their hillock. "So little? Fen'Harel, your shadow grows ever broader over Thedas. Slaves of all races come to my agents in the Imperium. They plead to join us. They beg to fight for you, in your name." The admiration gleaming in her eyes was hot and fierce, a stark reminder of why Solas had so often given into temptation and joined her for sex.

But seeing it in her gaze now only made him look away, his thoughts turning at once to Ellana, remembering the pain in her eyes. Didn't she see that he was protecting her? He wished he could see the same admiration glowing in Ellana's eyes, but knew he never would. Ellana was a beautiful spirit, courageous and idealistic and brimming with hope. It was why he adored her. She would never approve of his darker methods.

"I admire your spirit, falon," he told her, though he knew his voice emerged too stiff. "Hunt well." He meant it as a goodbye, turning on his heel to stride down the short uneven stairs in the naked rock to surge ahead through the void and rejoin Abelas. Yet Zevanni called to him, making him hesitate though he didn't look back at her.

"My second—the sentinel woman, Darae—she's squirrely. If I didn't know better I'd say she was a coward."

"I will check on her," Solas promised and then made his way down to the edge of the rock island and, with a surge of magic that caressed his skin in thousands of needle prick sensations, teleported over the gap. As he reappeared with a flourish, arms spread for stability on the slick black rock of the new island, he heard some of the mages across the expanse gasp and utter oaths to the Maker. He paused for a time on that island, watching as the mages in Zevanni's group continued filing past, searching for Darae.

When he saw Zevanni leave her perch as the last of her troupe passed by, walking over the rock bridge to the next island ahead, Solas frowned to himself. _Where is Darae?_ Fade stepping and teleporting across the gaps, he moved parallel with Zevanni's mages for several minutes, pausing to search. He didn't see her—and, alarmingly, he saw none of the sentinels amidst the mages.

And then, before Zevanni's group had entirely filed past him in this new location, the entire army came to a stop. They stood in clumps and queues, baffled or anxious looks on their faces. Although Solas could guess that far ahead, out of sight around the floating islands in the distance, the front of the army must've come upon a bridgeless gap, his heart started pounding with trepidation. _Something's wrong._

Hurrying now, he surged ahead, teleporting as far as his reduced abilities under the Veil would allow—which was still hundreds of meters depending on how much mana he expended. The mages in Zevanni's group blurred past him and the song of the Crossroads changed from a groan to a hum as he streaked forward, blinking in and out of existence at will. When he reappeared near the very front of the army he found Abelas' group of one hundred standing around idly, crammed onto a large island that had three bridges connected to it. A cold sensation started in the pit of his stomach. They had not come to a bridgeless gap as he'd expected. Instead he realized they'd stopped because they didn't know which way to go when faced with two different rock bridges.

But that shouldn't have stopped them. Abelas, like all of Solas' lieutenants, knew the way to the eluvian. Solas had shown them the night before in a dream and escorted them each individually to the eluvian while awake as time allowed over the previous two weeks of preparation. When he saw Var, Abelas' second in command, walking along one of the two bridges leading away from their current island, Solas wreathed himself in purple flames and reappeared on the spit of rock behind the rogue.

He heard gasps and cries from the mages back on the island—which he'd just teleported over in a heartbeat—and saw Var whip around to stare at him, wide-eyed. "Fen'Harel," he said and dropped to one knee, his head bowed. "Ir abelas, hahren. We do not know the way. Abelas directed us to this island and said he had to find you further down the line."

"When?" Solas asked, the single word strangled.

Var raised his head, the worry etched into his features obvious. "Perhaps half an hour ago. He did not find you?"

Clenching his jaw, Solas didn't answer Var's question. Instead he motioned to the other bridge, heading off to the left, deeper into the Crossroads. "Travel along that bridge. We are near the eluvian."

"Yes," Var said and shot upright, scrambling to obey as though he sensed the seething, pressurized mixture of emotions roiling inside Solas.

This close to the mirror Solas couldn't spare the proper time to uncover whatever Abelas was up to, but the dread and rage rising up from his stomach to his chest, making his heart pound, was undeniable. He drew several deep breaths, emptying his mind and idly summoning a faint veilfire flame into his right hand. Staring at it as the mages began walking again, taking the bridge he'd indicated, Solas concentrated on making the delicate tendril of veilfire curl around his fingers, dancing.

_Where would Abelas go? What would he do? Why would he do this now? How many sentinels went with him?_ Was it only Darae and Abelas who'd gone or had all of the sentinels chosen this moment to betray him?

Closing his fist to extinguish the veilfire, he banished the questions as unimportant. He had only a handful of sentinels in this fight. Their absence would not impact the outcome overmuch. As to where they'd gone and what they were up to…

He slammed those questions and worries into a dark space inside his mind, locking them away. The Forgotten Ones would be quick to seize such concerns and use them against him. He'd be vulnerable to their mind tricks and then their dark, twisted magic could infect him physically. After so long cut off from their natural food source—physical suffering and death—in the waking world, the Forgotten Ones would be desperately hungry.

Squaring his shoulders, Solas shot forward over the island Abelas—now Var's mages, actually—were still crossing, teleporting back down the line. Moving in parallel again to the army, he took stock from afar, searching for the sentinels. He found none of them. All of them had apparently managed to slip away. Fury scalded his blood while fear tried to freeze it, making his stomach churn and clench.

_This wasn't supposed to happen,_ he thought as he gnashed his teeth, grinding them together so hard his jaw ached.

But when the line halted again he knew that Var's group in the lead had reached the eluvian now. He had no time to uncover whatever treachery the sentinels had committed, though he could not stop the idea from popping obsessively into his head that this was all about Ellana. Mythal had been communicating with her, with the Dalish, and almost certainly with the sentinels as well. She had opposed his plans when he'd sought her out in dreams after waking from uthenera, but she'd aided Ellana through Morrigan in defeating Corypheus and had been instrumental in convincing so many Dalish clans to join them. Now he suspected the hidden strike had come, right when he could least afford it. This was, after all, just a continuation of Arlathan's courtly Game. Even physically dead, Mythal knew how to pin him as she always had. She'd offered something irresistible with one hand—recruiting the Dalish clans—and with the other she took something away…

Sucking in several long, deep breaths, Solas again made the veilfire flame dance over his hand, concentrating on its delicate beauty. Shaping and controlling it emptied his mind, cooled the fire of rage and eased the icy grip of horror clutching at his throat. He knew the mages could see the odd behavior as they waited, confused as to why they'd halted and now stood in line with nowhere to go and no direction, but he didn't care. He couldn't spare the mental energy as he locked down his thoughts and emotions, stuffing them all into that dark little box in the back of his mind.

After a few minutes he extinguished the veilfire and raised his head, eyes narrowed as he drew on the magic to teleport forward to the max of his abilities. Vanishing with a streak of purple flames, he reappeared several islands away and then Fade stepped over another gap. The mages who could see him gawked and pointed, though after several hours they had to have seen him display such tricks before.

Soon he saw the small, isolated island in the orange-gray void of the Crossroads, the eluvian mounted in the center of it so dark it was black. Var and a handful of other mages stood beside it while the rest of the group waited in a long line on the narrow bridge that connected the island with the next nearest spit of rock. In a mist of purple and black, Solas materialized at Var's side, startling the modern mages nearby into gasping and flinching from his unexpected arrival. Var, however, only blinked with surprise for a moment before bowing his head again.

"Fen'Harel, have you found Abelas?" he asked.

"I sent Abelas and the other sentinels back to Hellathen Hamin," he lied. "I fear the ancient magic in their vallaslin may make them vulnerable now."

Var's brow knit, likely sensing that was a lie. To his credit, however, he nodded in obedience. "As you say, Fen'Harel." He motioned to the mirror. "The eluvian is sealed?"

"Only for the moment," Solas replied and then drew a small blade from another hidden pocket in his headdress. Without hesitation he made a slice over his palm, barely feeling it through the numbness that'd settled on him since calming himself with the veilfire exercise. As his blood, rich and red, began to pool from the wound, he clenched his fist and threw it onto the black glass of the mirror. The glass flickered, the blackness somehow darkening further as the blood spatter soaked into it, disappearing.

An elven mage behind Solas hissed with disapproval. "Blood magic. Maker preserve us."

"A seal only," Solas explained. It was _barely_ blood magic, but even this little trick made his skin prickle as he felt the weight of the Veil strangling his connection to the Fade more acutely. Yet he could not escape the necessity of it. Millennia ago he'd lured the Forgotten Ones to this eluvian and then hurriedly left them inside it, using the seal to trap them and keep anyone else out. Only his blood could open the way now.

The blackness in the mirror swirled, like smoke trapped behind the glass. Solas wove a mild healing spell over his palm, closing the cut almost entirely until only a slight ooze of his blood remained. Using that, he raised his palm to the eluvian and sent a spurt of bluish magic twining into it. The mixture of his magic and his blood, combined with the passphrase that he murmured aloud now in elven, reactivated the eluvian completely.

With a crackling noise the eluvian glowed blue, glimmering just as any other mirror would. Solas stared at it, struggling to feel nothing, think nothing as he completed the healing spell over his cut palm and burned away the blood with a flicker of green veilfire.

"I will enter first," he said, aiming the words at Var though he didn't look away from the mirror. "Follow after me and do not stop." Without Abelas here Solas had no choice but to plunge headfirst into the prison construct with these first one hundred mages. With Var not a mage with the Veil in place he'd be unable to seal the eluvian with a spell from either side of the mirror and the modern elves would almost certainly cringe from the thought of casting a blood magic seal. That meant Solas had to rely on Zevanni or Mathrel to do it when they arrived with their groups.

_Pray you have not underestimated them,_ he thought and then, magic suffusing his body in a warm glow as he reached for his mana core and stroked it for reassurance, he stepped into the mirror.

* * *

 

An acrid scent burned through Ellana's nostrils. Cringing from it, she rolled her head from side to side, moaning. A warm touch lay over her cheek a moment, then started tapping it gently. "Come on, darling, come out of it," a male voice said, soft and affectionate.

She blinked, seeing double for a moment before Dorian's face swam into view. The tension left her body at once, seeing his friendly smile and warm, brown eyes. "Dorian…" She tried to shift, sitting up, but he laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Take it easy, love," he cautioned.

"Love?" she repeated, chuckling hoarsely. "What's gotten into you, Dorian?"

"Well, my concern _might_ have something to do with the fact that when I came through that blasted mirror the first thing I saw was that tattooed cretin attacking you—or so I thought." He sighed and transferred his grip from her shoulder to her left hand, squeezing. "Do you remember what happened?"

Rolling her head against the soft lump under her head, Ellana took in her surroundings with a frown of confusion. She remembered the dark room they'd emerged into, smelling of mildew and stagnant moisture and earth, but she'd woken into the diffuse orange of twilight. Directly overhead she saw the grayish branches of a massive tree, its leaves gray-brown in the gathering gloom. "Where are we?" she asked.

"Outside some charming ruins in the middle of what I think are the Emerald Graves." He shrugged. "Or possibly the Arbor Wilds. Really, all I can see are trees and hungry wild animals out to kill us and eat us."

The weight of the baby in her abdomen pressed uncomfortably against her spine and despite Dorian's disapproving cluck of the tongue she rolled onto her side and sat up. Her head spun, making her shut her eyes until the vertigo passed. "We made it, then," she murmured with a sigh. "Good."

"Your sentinel friends are less than enthused that you apparently told that lackey of Solas' exactly where you planned to go," Dorian said with a smirk. "They also don't seem to like Iron Bull, Rainier, and I. They might like Sera if she'd just stop yapping about how all of this magic offends her so. Then again, we always knew making nice with other elves was never her specialty."

While Dorian spoke, Ellana took in the rest of her surroundings and saw the other enormous trees growing nearby, their branches tangling high above her in the canopy that still had most of its leaves despite the nearness of winter. The air was moist and fragrant with the scent of green growing things and recent rains. Hellathen Hamin had been frozen already, but the Emerald Graves apparently hadn't yet tilted into full-blown winter yet. Even so, the air held a chill and Ellana shivered.

"Here," Dorian said, reaching behind her and unrolling the soft lump that'd been her pillow to reveal a halla skin. "One of the Dalish men with us insisted you have this." He smiled as he wrapped it around her like a doting father caring for a sick child.

Ellana gripped the pelt around her shoulders, offering him a trembling smile. "I should be cross with you for coddling me like this," she mumbled. "I can barely stand it when Solas does it."

Dorian scoffed. "Let's make a new rule while we're here, shall we?" He laid a hand on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze, staring into her eyes with a mixture of somberness and his usual witty amusement. "We don't talk about a certain bald elf and his abysmal lack of fashion sense and dubious status as an actual elven god. Because every time you mention him I see the hurt in your face and it makes me want to punch him—for both of us, you understand. My homeland is in chaos and I have _him_ to thank for all of it." He let out a long breath and withdrew his hand, turning his head to stare out into the gloom of the forest. "So, let's focus on this, whatever _this_ is."

Swallowing the ache in her throat, Ellana forced the wavering smile on her lips to stay there as she nodded. "I can try to honor that," she said. "But I'm afraid you'll find it hard not to run into elven gods while you're with us." She hesitated a second as he frowned, then added, "You and the others don't need to stay with us. What we're planning here will seem like madness to you all and it won't win you any favors politically or with Cassandra."

"Yes," he murmured with a glint of amusement in his eye. "I've heard the elves whispering that word _homeland_ a lot. Scandalous. Lucky for you, old girl, I _adore_ scandal." He twisted his mustache with one hand as he smirked.

Laughing, Ellana reached for his forearm. "Help me up."

He obliged, grunting as he stood, dragging her with him. "There you are." He watched as she dusted herself off, slapping at her backsides, middle, and legs with one hand while the other kept the halla skin wrapped over her shoulders. When she straightened again he cleared his throat, a look of awkwardness flitting over his features. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about expectant mothers but, ah, how long until the little one arrives?"

"You can relax," she said, chuckling at his anxious tone. "He won't come until spring."

"So it's a _he_ now, is it?" Dorian laughed. "I may just lose that wager with Varric after all."

Ellana smiled, wanting to laugh or react with embarrassment, but her chest constricted and her throat burned with more than just the ongoing annoyance of heartburn. Her first thought had been that aside from her own instinct that the child was a boy she now couldn't help but imagine her baby as a little, innocent version of Solas. After all, she'd just encountered the child's consciousness in the Fade that very morning. But she'd promised not to mention Solas—too bad she couldn't stop herself from thinking of him incessantly too.

Feeling over her abdomen idly, she took a few unsteady steps away from the mossy ground beneath the tree where she'd been resting. Dorian shadowed her, one arm extended out to offer support. Ellana didn't take it, finding her limbs bore her weight easily. Through the brush she saw pale stones scattered over the uneven, lumpy earth. A crumbling wall had a veilfire sconce set into it, burning green. Standing beside it Ellana recognized Abelas' tall, armored frame, glittering green from the veilfire torch. A few other sentinels lingered nearby, conversing in quiet voices using elven.

When Abelas noticed her he made a slight motion with one hand, silencing the others, and strode toward her and Dorian authoritatively. "Ellana," he said with a tight smile. "It is good to see you awake."

"How long was I out?" she asked, shaking her head in consternation.

"About an hour, maybe two," Dorian answered. "Just long enough for me to convince your kinsmen that hovering over you wasn't helping."

"Where are they?" Ellana asked, searching the forest around them and seeing no sign of any others.

"I have sent them to scout the area," Abelas replied. "There are no better scouts than the Dalish, after all." His smile was softer now, his voice carried a note of humor.

"Sera and Rainier went with them," Dorian added. "I suspect the five of them are getting on splendidly as they try not to get eaten by bears. That was my favorite bonding experience while we were here fighting Corypheus."

Abelas shot Dorian an irritated look and ignored him as Ellana chuckled. "Oh come on now, Dorian," she teased. "You know we ran into a lot more bears in the Hinterlands."

The Tevinter mage snorted. "Yes, but those bears were _little_ ones. It takes a _lot_ more _little_ bears to impress me. We put Iron Bull on guard duty precisely for that reason. He's far more impressive to everything out here that wants to kill us."

"Lethallan," Abelas said to her, all trace of amusement gone now from his face. "We are short on time. Fen'Harel will not allow us to remain here long uncontested. I have my people guarding the eluvian, but should he come through it himself they will be no match for him."

"Then don't fight him," Ellana retorted with a shake of her head. "There's no sense in us fighting each other. We want the same things or—" She frowned. "Nearly the same things."

His golden eyes flicking to Dorian with a wary expression, Abelas said, "I fear you do not quite understand Fen'Harel's ruthlessness. He may not leave us any choice. We have betrayed him and he does not tolerate failure well."

"Hold on a minute," Dorian said, raising a hand, index finger pointing up. "Can someone explain to me exactly how Solas survived _thousands_ of years since—"

"He slept," Ellana supplied quickly. "The ancients were immortal and sometimes lapsed into prolonged sleep while their spirits wandered the Fade."

"Ah," Dorian said with a meaningful nod. "That _does_ sound like something he'd do." Gesturing at Abelas, he said, "Much like your lot did within the Temple of Mythal."

"No," Abelas said with a frown but didn't elaborate when Dorian arched an eyebrow expectantly. Instead he focused on Ellana again. "We may only have a matter of hours, lethallan. I regret that I must ask you to use the Anchor so soon, but if we do not make our move we will lose our chance."

"You cannot be serious," Dorian growled, abruptly angry. "Did you not just see the trauma she endured? How can you possibly think—"

"He's right, Dorian," Ellana interrupted him, her left hand opening and closing at her side as she straightened her spine. The baby kicked against her stomach as if it could sense her growing tension. "I have to have something to show Solas when he arrives."

"You should not have told Lyris where we were headed," Abelas muttered with disapproval.

"She saw the mirror we passed through. He would have just followed us anyway," Ellana shot back, feeling her face heat. "The eluvian would—"

"My people could have redirected it," Abelas cut her off with a slash of his hand. "They could have sealed it. But now it does not matter, does it? These lands are filled with hidden ruins with intact eluvians and Fen'Harel would have no trouble activating another with his magic. Regardless of what we do it will only delay him. Like all Elvhenan's devices the eluvians will bow to his will as an Evanuris and send him where he wishes to go."

Her ear tips burned at his reprimand. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Then let's quit bickering and do what we came here to do."

"And what was that exactly?" Dorian asked, gazing between them.

"That is none of your affair, shemlen," Abelas muttered, scowling.

"I'm sorry," Dorian said with a sniff. "Perhaps I missed something, but as I seem to be standing right here helping Ellana, it seems to me it _is_ my affair, you stuffy tattooed buffoon." He jerked a finger at Abelas' chest. "I understand this is some kind of elves-only club, but I'm not about to let you or anyone else get Ellana killed without—"

"Dorian," Ellana shouted over him. When he turned and gazed at her, eyes crinkled with emotion, she let her voice soften. "I appreciate your concern, but Abelas is right and _I_ am the one who gets to decide what I will and will not do. Do you understand?"

His features warped, wounded. "Of course I understand that." His shoulders slumped and he rubbed at his face with an exasperated sigh. "I apologize. I'm just concerned for you."

Despite the weight of fatigue beginning to grow on her, Ellana smirked. "Well, you're not going to be happy with me when you hear what we have planned." Raising her left hand, Ellana flexed it, feeling the anticipatory tingling already in her skin. "How would you like to walk physically in the Fade?"

Dorian stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. Then he swore. "Vishante kaffas. You're serious aren't you?"

"Yes." Glancing to the sentinels watching from behind Abelas, lit green by veilfire, Ellana asked, "The Veil is thin here?"

"Indeed," Abelas said. "You intend to do it here." It wasn't a question.

"Do what?" Dorian asked, still gawking. "Tear open a rift so we can have a nice romantic stroll with some rage demons? That sounds like a lovely end to a very exciting day. Just wait here a moment and I'll fetch Iron Bull so we can enjoy it together." He broke off, scoffing with a snarl. "Have you gone mad, Ellana?"

"We don't have time to explain," she shot back before speaking to Abelas again. "Is this place remote enough? Can we defend it against whatever comes out?"

"Your clansmen have yet to return with news of the area," Abelas explained. "But there are no obvious signs of shemlen settlements." Pausing, he motioned over his shoulder and the three other sentinels lingering near the veilfire sconce stepped forward, their gait militant and their faces stoic. "With your Qunari I suspect the demons will be easily thwarted. It will only take a few minutes to stabilize it, lethallan."

"He's Tal-Vashoth," Dorian snapped at the sentinel before reaching for Ellana, clasping her left hand in both of his. "Please, Ellana, do you remember my advice to you after Adamant? You cannot seriously be considering this insanity. Walking physically in the Fade once was enough but—"

"Twice, actually," she corrected him blankly. "And yes, I am in fact considering this insanity." Hesitating, she shrugged out of the halla blanket and passed it to him with her right hand. "Dorian…the Fade and the waking world were one in the time of Arlathan."

"What?" The single word emerged as barely more than a breath. The shock on his face would've been funny if not for the seriousness of the topic. He had yet to take the halla skin blanket back from her.

"Solas sundered our people from the Fade to lock away the other Evanuris." Speaking the words aloud to someone else made her feel nauseous. Her chest tightened and she struggled to swallow and continue. "He created the Veil. He… _inadvertently_ destroyed our people. The Imperium wasn't responsible, Solas was. Now he hopes to set it right." She tugged her left hand from his grip without breaking eye contact with him. " _I_ hope to set it right."

"I…" Dorian shook his head as if dizzy, his eyes fluttering closed. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. "I'm starting to think you shouldn't tell me anymore until I've had something strong to drink. Brandy, maybe. Lots and lots of brandy."

"We have no time," Abelas reminded them. "Fen'Harel will—"

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian cut him off. "I know, I know. Maker's breath, what a killjoy." He took the halla skin from Ellana, folding it while glaring at the sentinels. "This is what I get for listening to Morrigan, I suppose."

Abelas scowled. "Lethallan, please. If you are going to act, I am ready."

In the gathering gloom Ellana pivoted around and strode into the space between the two massive trees she'd woken near. Night insects had begun to sing, their voices calm and beautiful, a mark of the tranquility of this forest that she was about to shatter. Facing the last lingering sunlight through the trees, Ellana drew in several deep breaths and closed her eyes, steeling herself against the pain she knew was about to come. The baby squirmed inside her and she wondered again if it was possible for it— _him—_ to sense her emotions.

_Hang on, little one, this will be rough._

Gritting her teeth, Ellana reached inward the way she'd learned to do during her time fighting Corypheus, feeling the tingle of magic in her palm and tweaking it. Pain erupted along the crease in her palm and she hunched at the sharp, stabbing sensation. The green light glowed, crackling and sparking as it grew, sensing her intention. She swallowed the cry of pain building in her throat as she extended her palm out, aiming low, and flexed her hand.

Green light shot out, zapping the air and making it erupt with a spurt of ether, as if she'd tossed a stone into water, making it splash. She felt resistance, a tugging against the fine bones in her left hand. The pain increased, white-hot and burning. She powered through it, clenching her hand and pulling on that green light, that thread of resistance. With a little boom and a crackle, the air rent in a way she had not seen for at least a year now, not since she'd closed the last Fade rifts. Shimmering and gleaming like an emerald, the Fade's ether dribbled from it like slime.

Behind her Ellana heard Dorian curse and spring for the base of the tree where she'd woken. She watched him in her peripheral vision as he grabbed up a simple wooden staff of a Dalish design—another weapon made by her own clan. And suddenly Ellana realized with a jolt that she had no weapon, no way to fight at all…

"I need a bow," she yelled, backing away from the rift as it began flickering, shooting off tendrils that bubbled, growing as the spirits that'd slipped through materialized and warped into demons. The first wisp appeared, popping up from the earth and strafing left and right. A terror demon hauled itself upright a few meters to Ellana's left, shrieking in a way that seemed to liquefy her guts. Yet, long years of practice made pushing away that primal fear easy as she hurried to fall behind the sentinels.

"I need a bow," she pleaded with them, but they only shot her apologetic or confused looks before charging to engage the terror demon.

Dorian was at her side then, teeth gritted as he cast a barrier over them both. "You opened it without having a weapon?" he asked. "I'm starting to question your judgment, my dear."

She laughed, dry and humorless. "You can scold me for being stupid later. Just find me a bow and a quiver of arrows."

But already the sentinels had taken down the two terror demons that'd spawned. As a rage demon manifested and spat fire at Abelas, the sentinel effortless blocked it with a wall of ice. Then, twisting acrobatically to miss a wisp's hurled spirit energy attack, he lobbed a massive ice spike at the rage demon, skewering it. Ellana felt something like envy curdle her stomach at the sight of the sentinels destroying their foes, graceful and sleek and fast, their armor glittering green under the light of the rift.

Beside her Dorian hurled fireballs and cast his necromancy spells, always maintaining a barrier over them both. The magic made Ellana's skin tingle, prickling. The Anchor continued to burn, but through the chaos and danger of the battle it was easy to ignore.

After two waves of demons had slipped through the rift shrank into itself slightly, going dormant. The sentinels relaxed for the moment, taking up readied positions around it. The rift was low to the earth as Ellana had intended, easy to step into from the ground.

"This is the part where you'd close it if you had sense," Dorian quipped at her side.

She shot him a half-smile and motioned at the shimmering tear. "Care to take that romantic demon-infested walk through the Fade now?"

He let out a sigh and shook his head in the negative even as he replied, "How could I say no, old girl?"

From across the clearing Ellana heard footsteps and saw a massive figure approach. She recognized Iron Bull with a smile. "Well, it looks like I'll have to play third wheel."

The sentinels tensed, watching the warrior charging toward them, but as he drew nearer he slowed and motioned with his axe at the rift. "Where the fuck did _that_ come from?"

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

"Is this really what it looked like at Adamant?" Dorian asked Ellana while they walked, the sneer of disgust in his voice palpable.

"Just about," she answered, scowling as she noticed how winded she felt trying to breathe the thick, humid air. They skirted around the stalagmite and its dripping, slimy water. "Maybe a little less slime. And no elven archer statues or ivy, either. But otherwise, yes."

"Charming," Dorian muttered. "And your pet apostate with the affinity for wolves wants to bring _this_ into our world?" He made a noise of disgust in his throat. "I'm trying to be supportive, darling, really I am—but I'm having trouble seeing how that would be an improvement. Nature is already filthy enough. I'm not sure how you look at this place and think 'Why, wouldn't that floating rock dribbling slime just add _so much_ to the Dales?'"

* * *


	24. The Prison Construct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and his army face off with the first of the Forgotten Ones. Ellana and her party continue working in the Dales.

As soon as Solas exited the eluvian his skin flushed with heat, prickling as though insects crawled over every last bit of exposed flesh. Blinking through the discomfort, he took in the prison construct and found it more intact than he'd dared hope. It was a black except for the beams of pale, milky light streaming in far overhead, through cracks in the ceiling. Gray stone walls stretched out ahead of Solas, covered in an inky blackness.

The mirror thrummed behind him, admitting Var. Solas strode ahead to make room for the modern elves that would follow. As he reached the wall of darkness, away from the beams of light cast from the cracks overhead, Solas murmured under his breath to summon an orb of veilfire. It lit up the space a meter ahead of him in green-white, illuminating a floor of stone covered by a layer of dust.

More elves poured in through the eluvian and many of them muttered under their breath, rustling as they scratched at their skin. "Blighted spiders," one of them grumbled. "Feels like they're crawling all over—"

"Silence," Solas ordered them in a low voice. His heart had started galloping in his chest. The Forgotten Ones would have sensed the eluvian activating and he had little doubt they were already nearby, perhaps drowsy and dormant to conserve strength, dreaming of better times and longing for freedom. But they'd undoubtedly stir for this.

The mages continued arriving, making the mirror hum unceasingly. Solas walked ahead, casting more veilfire orbs as he went, leaving them to float overhead. The prickling sensation continued over his exposed skin, but it was easy enough to ignore. The Forgotten Ones had always affected others this way. Their magic was caustic to the physical form, causing visceral reactions in a way the ethereal energy of the Fade never could.

The Evanuris had dubbed themselves creators, physical beings who used their will and magic to shape the physical world. But the Forgotten Ones were the exact opposite—spirit beings who used their magic to _destroy_ the physical world. It was inevitable that they would fight one another, of course, yet it'd been the Evanuris who broke the unspoken rules of the war by learning the magic of the Blight. They'd appropriated it from the Forgotten Ones, expanding on it, marring an already deadly tool of destruction into an abomination that could destroy all of Thedas.

It was that altered Blight that had infected the Tevinter magisters in the Black City and created darkspawn.

At the end of the long, empty corridor, now lit in white-green by veilfire, Solas paused at a square doorway. Var lingered a few steps behind him and the modern elves followed him, tense and pale with fear. The enchantments and wards they wore—in necklaces, bracelets, rings, anything small and capable of channeling strong magic—made them all appear dim and washed out.

Solas summoned another veilfire orb and with a slight wave of his right hand sent it flying through the stone doorway. As it passed the threshold, lighting the reddish glass set into the walls on either side, one of the modern elves asked, "Are we in the Deep Roads?"

"Can't be," another mage answered, a woman this time. "Feels like a construct."

"A construct meant to look like the Deep Roads," Var supplied in a quiet voice.

The Forgotten Ones had always enjoyed darkness and there were few places darker than the Deep Roads. Yet there'd been another reason for their interest in this place late in the war after Mythal's death. To trick them, Solas had shaped this construct with the help of dozens of others' magic, creating an exact replica of a real section of the Deep Roads, beside Dirthamen's slumbering dragon—what would later be called Dumat by the Tevinter Imperium. An Old God, what Solas knew to actually be an Evanuris' insurance policy against death by using dragons to house part of their powers and souls. Exactly as Corypheus had done with his own dragon.

Solas had promised the Forgotten Ones he would lead them to each dragon and help them kill it to cripple the Evanuris. And when they'd entered the eluvian they'd been deceived by the quality of the replica and a few well-hidden spells that disguised the _feeling_ of the construct around them. It'd been a gamble, but the Forgotten Ones had been so eager for any chance to gain victory over the Evanuris that they'd been easy to trick. Solas had led them just to this doorway, far enough to trigger runes in the stones of the floor that activated holding spells, freezing each being for a few moments. And then, teleporting back to the mirror, he had fled and sealed it with his blood before they could follow.

Such a simple ruse shouldn't have worked so well. But it had because despite their terrifying powers, the Forgotten Ones were never the threat the Evanuris were.

The veilfire orb Solas had cast illuminated a wider space beyond the door. Solas hesitated, watching the shadows around the orb for any unnatural movement or clinginess. His senses strained, waiting for the moment he would feel the power of the Forgotten Ones' close proximity, which manifested in varying ways: a metallic taste in the mouth, or the stink of rotten meat. Nothing came, just the ongoing prickle on his skin like a thousand spider legs crawling. Behind him the mirror continued to thrum and the mages inched forward, a swelling press behind him as they filled the hallway.

Quashing the cold tremor in his guts, Solas Fade stepped through the doorway and into the space beyond. Beneath the veilfire orb he rematerialized and immediately cast three more orbs, slinging them out into the darkness. In the same instant he tasted the harsh tang of iron on his tongue and the rancid stench of decay hit him.

_Daern'thal,_ he thought. Original creator of the Blight, a demon that fed on illness, suffering, wounds, and—like all the Forgotten Ones—death.

Erecting a barrier over himself with one hand, Solas spun to his right in time to see a vaguely bipedal shape lurch at him, hissing in a dry voice. "Fen'Harel," it said as wispy, tentacle-like limbs lashed against his barrier, sending blue sparks flying. "How good of you to bring us a meal after all this time."

Solas threw his arms wide, using a powerful veilstrike. Daern'thal fell back with another hiss, tentacles flailing. A fireball came flying out from the doorway as the first of the mages charged into the space to join the fight, their faces wrenched with disgust as they too tasted iron and smelled the odor of rot.

Flinging veilfire orbs out for increased lighting; Solas Fade stepped further from the doorway, searching for any sign of Geldauran as it tended to accompany Daern'thal. Sure enough he felt his tongue begin burning alongside the iron tang. That was Geldauran's influence, the taste of malice. One demon beget the other as Geldauran inspired violence and Daern'thal thrived on the wounds left by that violence.

At the edge of his farthest veilfire orb's greenish light Solas saw a black shape, roiling and frothing, formless and seething. It barreled down on him, splaying wide as it impacted his barrier, splashing like oil, viscous and tarry. Solas thrust a palm out, attacking with a wave of cold. Geldauran's voice was the crackling of fire, despite its liquid appearance as it growled his name, "Fen'Harel."

_Yes, yes,_ Solas thought as he hurled more ice at it. _Nice to see you again as well._

As Geldauran reared back, repulsed by the ice, Solas hurled more green vieilfire outward with a flourish and twisted to observe the mages tackling Daern'thal. Dozens of them had come through, casting in a flurry of fire, ice, storm, and spirit. The air buzzed and roared with magic around Daern'thal as it writhed, a confused mass of black tentacles. Still more elves piled through the doorway, joining their magic to the fray. Daern'thal appeared overwhelmed by the assault, unable to right itself and return an attack on the mages. If they could hit it hard enough and long enough the demon would dissipate, its spirit broken.

Unfortunately there was a high likelihood that Daern'thal would not truly die. Its essence would return to the Fade and over time it would re-form as something similar, one or more spirits dedicated to balancing the physical realm. That was another reason why Solas hadn't killed them, though the primary reason had been he hadn't had the chance before erecting the Veil sent him into uthenera. Now he had little choice because destroying the Veil would further weaken constructs like the Crossroads and this one. Though the prison had seemingly weathered the Veil well enough all it'd take would be a tear just large enough that the demons could pass through into the Fade and they'd be free to destroy the world with Blight directly.

At least a reborn demon sprung from Daern'thal's will in a few centuries probably wouldn't be twisted with wrath the way its predecessor was. In death these beings could have a fresh start. Seeing Daern'thal's weak thrashing, Solas almost wondered if they'd welcome the chance to begin anew…

Then Geldauran launched itself at him again and Solas blasted it with more ice, the element it was weakest against. "You will die slowly," it said, voice gargling. "Daern'thal will lap the blood from your wounds. I will twist your thoughts, turn your hands on those you love and make you watch as they die."

_How charming,_ he thought and his lips quirked in a smirk as he changed tactics, pummeling it with a powerful veilstrike. A blue circle formed beneath Geldauran and flared white as it went off—an ice mine. The mage who'd cast it charged closer, already preparing a mindblast spell. A woman surged forward with Fade step, stopping just shy of Geldauran and lobbing a fireball at it. Chain lightning crackled, flickering wildly against the dark expanse of the demon's tarry, blob-like form.

Geldauran gurgled, feeling the assault and shrinking backward. Solas pushed ahead, hurling ice with one hand and fresh veilfire orbs to light the space around them. The orbs illuminated pools of blackness left in the demon's wake and Solas shouted, "Do not step in its leavings!"

Too late one of the elves, a young Dalish man, did exactly that. He shrieked, the sound shrill with pain, then warped with rage. A blast of light emanated from him as he summoned fire and turned to the nearest elf at his side, flinging it at her. She cried out with surprise as the fire broke against her barrier but had no defense ready as he charged at her, roaring and frothing at the mouth.

Solas flattened him with a veilstrike that was hard enough knock him unconscious. Solas grit his teeth as he held back the desire to simply petrify the man because there was a chance they might kill Geldauran quickly enough to save the man. Redoubling his efforts, he flung fireballs at the black pools Geldauran had left, setting them aflame and making several mages yelp at the close proximity. Burning away the demon's rage mines.

Then a woman in the circle of mages attacking Daern'thal screamed with agony. Solas saw the demon had speared her through the gut with a tentacle and hefted her into the air. She kicked and struggled, but blood gushed from her mouth and dribbled down the beast's tentacle, dripping into the seething black mass of its body. Feeding it.

Solas' eyes flashed as he petrified her, ending the suffering and denying the demon her blood. Daern'thal hissed, in triumph or irritation, Solas couldn't be sure which. It thrashed that tentacle, lobbing the woman's petrified body down and out at its attackers. The stone body collided with three other mages, knocking them aside as the physical attack cut through their barriers with ease. They fell, crying out with pain as the impact shattered bones and crushed limbs. Solas heard the wet crack of bone.

"As you die, I grow stronger," Daern'thal said, laughing.

"Fen'Harel has led you to your deaths," Geldauran added in its gurgle. "He has betrayed you just as he betrayed us. Turn your fear, your wrath upon him. The wolf will suck the marrow from your bones at Daern'thal's side."

Daern'thal lashed out again, laughing as its tentacles flew in a frenzy. With so many mages now around it—how could it miss? Two tentacles managed to stab into mages, hauling them into its body as they shrieked in horror and agony. Blood splattered on the stone and the stink of voided bowels and urine joined the already overwhelming stench of decay. The mages around Daern'thal were nearing their breaking point, the moment when their horror would overcome their courage.

"Enough," Solas roared and summoned firestorm on Daern'thal in the same instant that he petrified the demon's latest victims. As brimstone and fire lobbed onto Daern'thal, pinning it to the stone, it shattered the bodies of the mages the demon had slain.

The elven mages yelled in triumph, surging forward again in their fury, taking advantage of Daern'thal's moment of immobility. Fire bloomed, lighting the stone walls around the fight, pushing back the shadows.

"You will not prevail," Geldauran's voice gargled, but it had backed into a corner, writhing and twisting as dozens of mages pelted it with ice, lightning, and spirit attacks. Already they'd gleaned from its reactions that fire attacks did little harm to it and altered their strategies accordingly. They could sense the demon weakening and pressed their advantage.

Solas joined them, standing between the two demons, casting ice at Geldauran while he kept Daern'thal pinned with firestorm spells.

Then Zevanni was at his side, letting out a high-pitched ululating cry from deep in her throat. With a fierce grin on her face, she summoned a second firestorm on Daern'thal, doubling the fury of Solas' attack. "Fen'Harel vir'enasalin," she shouted.

_Fen'Harel's victorious path._

"Falon," Solas greeted her, also grinning. "Let us finish them."

"Fuck yeah," she agreed with a laugh.

More mages surged in from the hallway; so many that not all of them could fit into the space. Many of the newcomers could do nothing but cast barriers over those in front of them. Solas knew it was only a matter of time before both of the demons succumbed to their assault. They had lain in this first room, as he'd expected of these particular demons, but there were still three more Forgotten Ones. Daern'thal and Geldauran attacked physically, which was easy to understand and defend against, but the Anaris demons and Tua'verdhe were just as likely to use psychological tricks that could prove far deadlier.

Geldauran let out a gurgling cry then, bubbling and splattering as it grew desperate. Flinging off bits of itself, the black, tarry blobs struck the nearest mages. The mess bounced harmlessly from some barriers, but in three others the splatter struck with the perfect timing, right as barriers failed. Two others stepped on the puddles and chaos erupted as they screamed, enraged and wild as they turned on those around them. Fire flew—Geldauran's favorite element—and the other mages shrieked with alarm as their clothing burst into flame or their skin burned.

Solas petrified all five afflicted mages and then pounded the statues and Geldauran with a powerful, focused veilstrike. The force of it kept Geldauran pinned and shattered the petrified mages. The air clouded with dust and the chamber echoed with the chaotic din of the mages' shouts of alarm.

"Beware the tar," Solas yelled. "Burn it!" He launched more ice at Geldauran. "Do not waver! It is almost beaten!"

"I will make a necklace of teeth from those you love," Geldauran promised, gargling. "Then I will make you wear it. I will cut off your genitals and leave you in agony!"

"All bluster and no balls," Zevanni roared back at it, punching a fist into the air. Ice spears rained down into Geldauran. "Suck my icicles, Geldauran!"

Emboldened by their reinforcements and by Zevanni's taunting, the mages pressed ahead again, redoubling their efforts on Geldauran. Solas made sure the other group tackling Daern'thal stayed ahead by unleashing another firestorm.

And then, suddenly, Geldauran made a sickening, wet gurgle and collapsed into itself. The black of its tarry body lightened until it was a deep, putrid green goo. The mages gasped and scrambled back as the viscous fluid oozed outward from the corner, glinting green on green in the light from the veilfire.

"Ha!" Zevanni said, roaring with laughter. "Geldauran has fallen! Forgotten Ones, Fen'Harel ma halam!" _Dread Wolf ends you._

Solas grinned as the mages around the rapidly evaporating green-black ooze cheered with victory and crowded closer to where the fight continued with Daern'thal. The black mass of tentacles hissed, writhing and flailing, but the dozens of mages surrounding it countered its every move. It shrank back, unable to make contact under the flurry of ice, fire, lightning, and spirit based attacks.

"Blight take you," it hissed, its voice like old, dry bones clattering together. "All of you." It let out a belching noise, producing a reddish mist that clouded the air. Solas paused, watching with his heart suddenly in his throat as the mist spread out, reaching the nearest mages. It bounced backward, rolling away as if it'd encountered a solid wall. Solas felt himself sigh with relief. The ancient wards against Blight had worked, barring Daern'thal's pestilence.

Apparently enraged when it saw the Blight could find no purchase on the elven mages, Daern'thal let out a high-pitched shriek. The mages closest to it cringed but none of them let up. Just as before, they could sense the demon was almost dead.

Then a cold wind whipped through the room, rank with an acrid smell that burned in Solas' nostrils. Unleashing a firestorm on Daern'thal and then lobbing a few fireballs at it for good measure, Solas pivoted away from the fight and Fade stepped deeper into the room toward a doorway on the far adjacent wall. He knew that acrid smell well.

_Tua'verdhe. Chaos. Mother of mystery. Queen of cunning. Lady of insanity._ To the Imperium she had been Razikale, the dragon of mystery that actually belonged to Sylaise. To Solas she had been a teacher, his first ally among the Forgotten Ones. For, despite her name and association with chaos and insanity, she had also been a creature of contrariness and not wholly unfriendly to him in the distant past of Elvhenan.

While the other Forgotten Ones manifested themselves as sexless and often formless, she chose the opposite of her nature as if mocking herself. She presented herself as a woman because only females created order from chaos—making children from the mess of male seed. In the natural world she had caused drought, flood, earthquakes, forest fires, and windstorms. And from the chaos of her wrath, life sprang anew. Floods fertilized fields, and forest fires cleared underbrush for new growth to sprout. But in war she had brought nothing but terror to the People, and so Solas had locked her away as well.

Now, after millennia sealed away, Solas had little doubt she'd be anything but friendly, and she'd never been predictable.

At the other doorway Solas cast several veilfire orbs, sending them ahead to light the gloom beyond. The wind continued rushing past him, stirring dust and bringing the sharp chemical smell with it. Every inhalation made Solas' nasal passageways and throat burn. Behind him Zevanni shouted in victory, declaring Daern'thal's defeat. The mages cheered, alternatively praising Fen'Harel and then the Maker, as if Andrastian faith and the elven pantheon weren't at odds with each other, or that the idea of _gods_ actually conflicted with the Dread Wolf's ideology.

_Veredhe would be pleased with the contradiction,_ Solas thought as he watched the green light of his orbs dart ahead into the inky blackness. The green light reflected from shiny, uneven stone and then shone off into nothing. It was a narrow path with a precipice to one side, just the sort of place Veredhe would favor with its contrast between nothingness and hard, stable stone. Taking the mages out onto the ledge would be disastrous. Veredhe could simple blow them from the path and into the void, slaughtering them all without lobbing a single blow.

The only way to deal with her would be to lure her into the confined space they were already within. Unlike Daern'thal and Geldauran, Tua'veredhe wouldn't be as simple or as patient—but she had to be _hungry._

More mages had begun shuffling into the room behind him, their bodies warming the space and the smell of their sweat nearly overcoming the lingering stench of the Forgotten Ones. Zevanni and Var moved into place behind him, tense and alert.

"What now?" Var asked.

"Chaos," Solas answered in a solemn voice. "But she is also cunning. The way ahead is a path beside the abyss. If we venture onto it she will simply kill us."

"We're trapped here?" Zevanni asked.

"Only until her patience thins," Solas murmured with a smirk.

As if she'd heard him—and she probably had—the wind picked up again, buffeting them and making their cloaks and coats flutter and flap. A white light glowed outside the doorway, flaring brighter than the green of all three veilfire orbs Solas had cast out into the space beyond. It reflected from the rocks, making Solas' eyes tear with its intensity.

Speaking in the ancient tongue Veredhe had taught him all those centuries ago in Elvhenan, Solas said, _"She comes in light because we expect darkness."_

Feminine laughter, high-pitched and maniacal, echoed through the abyss and Solas heard the mages mutter quick prayers to the Maker for mercy and good fortune. Their tension charged the air with the weight of magic, doubling the prickling sensation over his skin. The white light moved slightly, edging closer to the doorway. The shiny stone allowed Solas to see the reflection of a naked woman, her skin as pale as snow. But between one blink and the next the image had vanished, leaving only the bright light.

"How very expected, Dread Wolf," a woman's voice said, clear and clean. Nothing like the gurgle and hissing from Daern'thal and Geldauran. "You come to me exactly as you were when you left us here." She broke off, laughing again, more of a titter this time. "Oh—but it is not exactly, is it? Now your heart beats for another and you sow seeds of creation instead of chaos. Pity."

Ignoring her baiting, Solas said, "Meet with us, Veredhe. Do you not wish to return to the Fade? To your greater purpose?"

She laughed again, a sour note in the sound that made Solas' shudder involuntarily. "Why would I seek to leave when you have brought me a greater purpose, Fen'Harel?"

Then, suddenly, the brightness darted into view, blinding in its brilliance and scalding with heat. Solas hissed with pain and hurled spirit energy at her with a veilstrike, hoping to knock her down or backward. A blast of air hit him and he sensed movement—a streak of something glistening and wet—and then water roared around his ankles and swelled up in a heartbeat to his knees.

"No," Solas snarled, feeling the magical, tingling caress of the fluid as it picked up speed, sucking at his feet. He hurled a mindblast into it, scattering the essence with a loud splash, but more of it rushed through and around his legs, coming from behind him.

"The bitch is flooding the room," Zevanni shouted. "Fenedhis, how can—"

"She is Chaos," Var reminded her. "At least it's not fire."

"I could put out fire," Zevanni yelled back at him.

The light outside the doorway had retreated, faded almost to nothing, but Solas could still smell the stench of her. Veredhe had cast a spell unique to herself—water. And now, before Solas could react or think with the water rushing up around his knees and the mages shouting with alarm as from nowhere the ceiling rained in a downpour, he felt a cold blast from the doorway. When he looked he saw a wall of ice form, sealing them off and blocking the water's natural escape into the abyss.

She was going to drown them all.

* * *

With her left hand still afire from opening the rift, Ellana clutched the simple bow one of the sentinels had give her and tried to think past the pain as she stepped into the Fade. Her foot landed in soft, squishy sand, sinking in to her ankle. Abelas, who'd walked in first with his head up and shoulders square, gripped her forearm to steady her, pulling her through.

"Thank you," she told him.

He nodded, his expression warm and yet solemn. "Tread carefully. The pools may be deeper than they appear and the sand may not release its grip."

"Quicksand," she said with a nod. "Got it."

Dorian stepped through next, grimacing as he looked around and hunching his shoulders. "Well, this place is certainly cheery, isn't it? I wonder who decorates it."

They'd stepped out onto a relatively flat plain. The raw Fade was dank and dotted with oily puddles, just as it had been when Ellana last walked physically through it. Slimy moisture dripped from a nearby stalagmite that hovered high overhead, landing with a plopping noise in the sand beneath it. Ahead, through the swirling green mists, Ellana saw an elven archer statue, coated in wet ivy that appeared out of place considering they were in the Fade. But, then again, the Fade did tend to reflect the physical world that corresponded to it, according to Solas.

_And he would know,_ Ellana thought with a frown.

"Are you in pain?" Dorian asked, seeing her expression.

She raised her left hand, still clutching the bow, forcing a tight smile onto her mouth. "Nothing I can't handle."

A muscle in Dorian's jaw flared as he shot a glare to Abelas. "Was it really necessary for her to come here?" he asked, growling. "Hasn't she done enough?"

Abelas frowned. "It was indeed necessary. The runes to stabilize the Fade must be activated with very specific magic—Fen'Harel's Anchor."

"Of course." Ellana sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as she anticipated even more pain. "Let's get this over with then."

"Before we attract the attention of whatever filth lives here," Dorian added with a grumble.

They waited a moment as another two sentinels stepped through the rift, blinking against the pallid, grayish light. They were warriors, both male, and unfamiliar to Ellana. As soon as they'd arrived Abelas directed them to the right and left of the rift with a terse order. They obeyed, their boots squelching in the sand and splashing through the puddles. Then Abelas motioned to her. "Stay close to me. Should the Anchor flare I will intervene."

Clenching her jaw, Ellana nodded. With Abelas leading, they struck out across the empty, soggy plain, bodies tense and senses on alert.

"Is this really what it looked like at Adamant?" Dorian asked as Ellana while they walked, the sneer of disgust in his voice palpable.

"Just about," she answered, scowling as she noticed how winded she felt trying to breathe the thick, humid air. They skirted around the stalagmite and its dripping, slimy water. "Maybe a little less slime. And no elven archer statues or ivy, either. But otherwise, yes."

"Charming," Dorian muttered. "And your pet apostate with the affinity for wolves wants to bring _this_ into our world?" He made a noise of disgust in his throat. "I'm trying to be supportive, darling, really I am—but I'm having trouble seeing how that would be an improvement. Nature is already filthy enough. I'm not sure how you look at this place and think 'Why, wouldn't that floating rock dribbling slime just add _so much_ to the Dales?'"

Chuckling, she had to concede the point. "To be honest I'm not sure how returning the Fade to the waking world will change things. But Solas has said it will…" She broke off, searching for a vague way to explain it without revealing too much. Solas had been adamant that she not tell their friends, but she trusted Dorian too much to lie to him or hide the truth. "It will restore our people to their true nature."

"Which is…?" Dorian asked expectantly and then let out a little yelp, splashing and stumbling. He managed not to fall and had recovered by the time Ellana turned to him and reached out with a steadying hand. "Can you believe this shithole?" he cursed, brow furrowed and face bright red. "I almost face planted just now."

"It's not any worse than the Fallow Mire," Ellana said, smirking and glad to change topics. She tugged on his hand, noticing Abelas had gotten ahead of them and paused, throwing them an irritable look over one shoulder. "We're coming," she called.

Abelas reached a large wall of grayish-green rock and then reached inside a small pouch at his belt and produced a knife. Ellana couldn't stop herself from letting out a little gasp as he sliced his palm open. As the blood began to well up, stark against his pallid skin, Abelas rapidly sheathed the knife and dabbed a finger of the opposite hand into it. He traced shapes, whorls and lines, creating a rune that dribbled red down the surface of the wet stone.

"Oh goodie," Dorian said in a mock-cheery voice. "And now we get to partake in blood magic! My favorite." He groaned. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Blood magic is not the evil you believe," Abelas said without looking at them. "We must tie the physical world to this spot in the Fade. We are binding it. There is no harm in this magic." Clenching his fist, Abelas stepped back from the stone and motioned Ellana toward it. "Summon the Anchor and that will activate the rune."

Nodding solemnly, Ellana couldn't help but glance to his bleeding hand where blood dripped between his fingers. Following her stare, Abelas tucked it behind himself, out of sight. "Please, lethallan. We have little time."

"I'm starting to think that's your mantra," Dorian grumbled. "But I trust you _will_ let us know when we have plenty of time, yes? I'd like to know when I can indulge in that brandy."

Smothering her laughter at the way Abelas glowered in Dorian's direction, Ellana stepped closer to the rune, written in blood with rivulets running in the grooves of the rock. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes, feeling the tingle and pleasure-pain caress of magic embedded in her palm and the Anchor crackled, reigniting. Green shot out from it, hitting the rune and immediately the feedback cut off the magic. Ellana yelped with surprise, pulling her hand back and making a fist. The Anchor had dissipated, leaving her mercifully pain free. And on the rock the rune now glowed brown, then alternated to green, a melding of the physical and the spiritual.

"Well done," Abelas praised. "Come—we have many more runes to activate."

"Blighting blood magic," Dorian complained under his breath as Abelas started walking at a quick pace, circling the rift some meters away. "Are you all right?" he asked Ellana.

"Yes," she said, risking a glance at her hand as they walked over the difficult, uneven terrain. "It's actually not hurting at all right now."

"Well," he said with a small smile. "That's something at least."

They stopped at another rock and Abelas again used his blood to paint a rune. Ellana activated it, feeling only a brief and minor surge of poain from the Anchor as she did so. They continued on, eventually reaching runes that'd been painted by the two warrior sentinels who'd followed them in. Like Abelas they'd used blood and now held their bleeding hands clenched at their sides, dripping into the sand and muck of the Fade as Ellana activated these runes too. There were eight runes in total, one for each point on the compass when the between directions were counted: southeast, southwest, northeast, northwest.

With the last rune active Ellana felt a warm wave pass through her and she shivered reflexively. The air seemed to caress her. The men with her showed no sign they'd noticed it though so she didn't mention it.

"Now we must return through the rift," Abelas said. "We will make similar runes there and charge them in the same way. When that has been—"

"Pain, stabbing and hot," a voice said from behind them, making all three sentinels, Dorian, and Ellana all gasp and whip around, tensing. But at once Dorian and Ellana both recognized the young man standing a few meters away, behind the stone where their latest activated rune had been drawn in blood.

"Ah," Dorian said. "It's just you."

"Cole," Ellana exclaimed and motioned quickly at the sentinels, trying to calm them. "He's a friendly spirit."

Abelas nodded at the other two sentinels and they relaxed slowly. "If you say this spirit is a friend then we will not attack. But we cannot linger here. The runes must be tied to—"

"Wrenching us apart," Cole said, his voice strangled and his blue eyes wide. "Twisting in two directions, warping and pulling." He fell silent a moment and then said, "You're tearing this place away, like a blade cutting out a hunk of cheese from the wheel."

"We're restoring the world to how it was," Ellana explained. "Before Solas created the Veil."

"I know," he answered and then, abruptly, pushed his hand forward pass the rock with the rune. A wall of energy flickered to life, crackling at his touch.

Ellana gasped at the loudness of it, stumbling back. Dorian laid a hand onto her shoulders and gripped her forearm, stabilizing her. She shot him an appreciative look before speaking. "Cole? What was that? Are you all right?"

Cole's expression was pinched and unhappy. He bowed his head. "They sing a new song. It won't let me pass."

"The runes prevent spirits and demons from crossing," Abelas explained blankly. "Fen'Harel will not approve of this division between the wild Fade and the tame one we allow into reality."

"You mean to say you're bringing the Fade into the waking world but devoid of any spirits or demons?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Abelas answered, the mild curl of his lips revealing his disdain for the human mage. "Fen'Harel's solution is one of chaos. He would remove the Veil suddenly. The result would be—"

"Redcliffe," Dorian snarled. "Yes. I've seen the result wrought by another being claiming godhood."

"Solas isn't a god," Ellana protested, sighing. "He's never claimed to be one either."

"Yet his goals remain the same," Dorian snapped, brow knitting. "I'm really sorry, old girl, but I'm now absolutely certain I'm going to have to set your hobo wolf on fire the next time I see him. Is he insane? Have you _told_ him about what we saw in Redcliffe? How can he—"

"Solas isn't that kind of wolf," Cole protested. "He cares, he hurts—an old hurt and a weight on his shoulders only he can carry."

"Enough," Abelas said with a dismissive wave of his hand at Cole and Dorian. "We must return through the rift, Ellana."

Ignoring Abelas for the moment, Ellana asked Cole, "Can you come through the Veil to where we are? You're welcome to join us but we can't remove these runes."

"Yes," he answered with a nod. "I can. I have to. He asked me to watch you."

"What?" Ellana asked, frowning in confusion.

"Solas," Cole answered and then, eyes scrutinizing her up and down, the spirit boy said, "You're bigger than you were before, brighter." He grinned, joy lighting his face. "Floating, warm, comfort, peaceful. Muffled sounds. That beat in the dark. Familiar—"

Dorian chuckled. "I think we've lost him. He's doing that word confetti, poetry nonsense."

Recognizing what Cole was referencing, Ellana smiled and laid a hand over her abdomen. "We're going to return to the waking world now, Cole. Will we see you there?" she asked.

Cole dipped his head. "Yes." And with that he vanished, leaving only the green ether of the Fade where he'd been standing before.

"Creepy," Dorian murmured.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Traitor," Banal repeated, dragging the word out in that same bone chilling cry that echoed inside his skull. "Harellan. Monster. You will lose your lover as your enemies steal her away. She will curse you with her dying breath. Your child will never know you and deny its heritage in shame, bowed and broken as a slave in Tevinter."

Despite himself, Solas felt anxiety lick its way from the very base of his belly, cold and quivering with mild panic. Banal had no eyes, no face to tell him it watched him, but Solas knew that it did, and like Cole it read him beneath the surface. Like its far simpler brethren, fear demons, it knew just what to say to set its victims on edge. Solas quashed his reaction, focusing on the magic he cast.

Soon, minutes later though it felt like hours, Banal'anaris let out a long wheezy sigh and its black essence fluttered, shrinking as it entered its death throes. Its voice called out one last time, howling in its despairing wail. "She has already fled from you, Fen'Harel. Your loss is nigh."

 


	25. Restoring the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and his army conquer the Forgotten Ones. Ellana's experiment in the Dales bears fruit.

The water rose quickly, swelling up to Solas' thighs in only a few heartbeats. Behind him Zevanni and Var shouted, arguing over how best to tackle the problem. Var wanted to attack the ice wall while Zevanni hoped to stop whatever spell had been cast.

"I will destroy the ice," Solas told them. "But we must move quickly to—"

Before he could finish speaking the wall of ice blockading the doorway shattered with a glasslike clattering. The water roared, set free and surging forward and straight for the precipice. Solas, standing barely a meter away, had no chance of staying upright as the current swept him under and tore him out the door. The cold water muffled sound and light, stunning him for a heartbeat before he saw, through a spray of bubbles, the darkness of the ledge racing toward him.

Twisting, Solas teleported sideways, rematerializing to the right of the doorway, which the rushing water had now transformed into a waterfall. Zevanni and Var floundered past him, falling away—but Solas blasted the water with ice, creating a ledge below them. They fell onto it, coughing and scrambling for purchase, waterlogged and clumsy.

More mages flowed out with the water, screaming and splashing. Solas cast another wall of ice at the edge of the precipice, creating a dam that blocked the flow. The water smashed into the ice, parting to flow over its sides. The mages carried with it hit against the ice instead, then scrambled to find purchase. Thinking quickly, Solas drew hard on his mana core and formed an ice wall along the edge of the stone path, creating temporary barriers like railings. The water flowed along the path now, thinning as it spread out. Solas stiffened as it rushed past him, tugging at his ankles, but the current no longer had enough strength to dislodge him.

Below the ice railings Zevanni cast ice of her own, creating a parallel walkway. Var scrambled behind her, fleet-footed and agile as he checked the daggers at his shoulders and readied for a fight. He didn't possess enough magic to cast, which had made Solas reluctant to bring him, but he'd needed someone he could trust as Abelas' second in command.

Too bad Abelas had betrayed him.

The mages swept out by the water now accumulated on the path, righting themselves and splashing as they jogged to join him on the path. Zevanni and Var reached the end of Solas' ice wall railing where the water flowed around it in a steady stream into the depths of the black abyss. She flash froze the waterfall and then used it to climb up from the ice ledge she'd created with Var following. Solas advanced to help them both up.

"Where is the bitch?" Zevanni asked, dripping wet and snarling with barely contained rage.

"Retreated, I suspect," Solas replied. He couldn't detect the sharp, burning scent on the air any longer. "The spell she cast must have drained her. Yet she is not known for patience. She will return soon." He nodded toward the path. "We must advance quickly to escape this exposed spot. The spell she cast will wear off shortly. Watch your step."

They hurried forward, Solas lighting the way with veilfire orbs and creating ice walls at the edge of the precipice to ensure the others' safety. He heard and sensed the cold wind from behind him as the mages following continued casting ice as well, strengthening the impromptu railings.

The sound of rushing water diminished as Solas reached a spot where the stone wall to his left stopped. He knew from his memory of this place that this was a large courtyard with pillars carved out by dwarves every so often. It cut deep into the rocks, eventually forming a massive archway and circular platform where a dragon would have slept. In the true Deep Roads those dragons had been walled in to seal them away from darkspawn, making it harder for them to be found. But the Forgotten Ones hadn't known that and for dramatic flair Solas had left the dragon's sleeping platform and chamber open in case he needed to take the demons deeper into the construct before fleeing.

Flinging more veilfire orbs out into the empty space, Solas Fade stepped forward twice and then paused, assessing the inky blackness. Sure enough his next breath brought the sharp, burning scent of Veredhe—but Chaos wasn't alone this time. He felt his stomach clench, gnawing on itself with a sudden, intense hunger, and at the same time a chill swept over him, his skin going numb. Those were the hallmarks of the Anaris demons: Isa'anaris and Banal'anaris. Famine and nothingness.

For light rather than combat, Solas summoned firestorm. As the fireballs rained down on the courtyard, casting orange-yellow flashes of light, he saw the all-consuming darkness of Banal'anaris in the corner beside the archway leading to the empty platform where Dumat would have been sleeping. Beside it stood the pale-skinned, skeletal figure of Isa'anaris, tentacles sprouted from its back as its hollowed eyes made contact with his own. But where was Veredhe? What form had she taken now?

And then, from one of the pillars illuminated by his firestorm, water poured out, splashing as it struck the stone. Already Solas suspected this was Veredhe, but when the water rose up into a vaguely bipedal form he knew with certainty he had found her. Veredhe's voice cackled as his firestorm ended, plunging the courtyard back into darkness.

Solas flung out more orbs of veilfire with one hand while with the other he summoned pull of the abyss, hoping to keep all three demons trapped in the same area. The spell roared as it activated, shimmering as it created a wind, sucking at dust and debris. The light revealed Solas had caught the Anaris demons together as he intended, but Veredhe streaked toward him, making the stone underfoot quake.

Fade stepping to the left, away from the courtyard's edge and closer to the platform that would've housed a sleeping dragon, Solas let loose with lightning on the Anaris demons while he summoned a powerful veilstrike for Veredhe. More mages joined him, blurring as they used Fade step, popping out and immediately casting offensive attacks at Veredhe.

She roared, wind gusting at the newly arrived mages in a powerful blast that knocked several of them off their feet. One man shrieked as he was flung across the courtyard, sliding over the stone toward the edge. His staff clattered after him. Even from many meters away, Solas was able to create an ice wall to stop the mage from going over the edge before sending Fade stone flying at Veredhe. The physical impact knocked her over, disrupting the wind spell she'd conjured.

More mages rushed into the fray, focusing their attacks on Veredhe because she was closest. Solas kept the Anaris demons pinned down with a heavy veilstrike, smashing them to the ground and then adding pull of the abyss as well. Zevanni joined him, shouting a battle cry again as she hurled fireballs at chaos and then lightning at the Anaris demons. Var joined in the attack as well, daggers slashing as he darted in and out.

"This is how you repay me, Fen'Harel?" Veredhe demanded, her voice making the courtyard shake. A few mages stumbled, their spells fizzling, but they had enough elves that soon all three demons had been surrounded. The handful of rogues Solas had brought with them went to work, hacking and slashing.

"Trapped here over the ages," Veredhe shrieked, her voice shrill and painful enough that everyone near cringed. "After all I taught you." Her voice rose impossibly high, earsplitting. The wind howled again and Veredhe lashed out, sweeping aside a handful of mages, men and women, knocking them with tremendous force into a stone pillar. Solas heard their screams of pain intermixed with the crunch of broken bones. But the mages didn't let up as more moved into position, keeping the heat on Veredhe.

From the Anaris demons then Solas heard another wailing scream and saw Isa'anaris had managed to strike one of the mages with a tentacle limb. Unlike Daern'thal, however, its tentacles did not pierce the man's body but passed through him. The effect was still immediate and terrible as he staggered backward, howling and clawing at his neck and then his stomach, retching. Isa'anaris caught two more mages with its tentacles, sending them reeling away as the uncontrollable vomiting seized their bodies.

Banal'anaris, a black shape that was more lightlessness than anything else, broke free of the encircled mages. It moaned, a hollow sound of despair, and before Solas could cast pull of the abyss again to keep it pinned, the demon brushed three of the attacking mages and they froze, staring unseeingly. Numbed by its touch, their skin turned ashen, their life leeching away to feed Banal'anaris. With a flash of his eyes, Solas petrified them rather than feed the demon.

Pull of the abyss corralled Banal'anaris back to its counterpart, the pale, wizened figure of Isa'anaris. Solas summoned firestorm, battering both demons together with the fireballs and then following it at once with lightning.

The mages afflicted with Isa's touch had the presence of mind to slink away, clutching their bellies as they dry heaved and spat onto the stone. Isa'anaris was the weakest of the Forgotten Ones, being a demon whose representative in nature, famine, could be easily mitigated by society when it pooled resources, sharing food. As a result its attack was the least deadly of all five Forgotten Ones and Solas knew soon that the mages it'd struck would recover enough to rejoin the fight.

But Banal's touch was much harder to recover from—impossible even for most of these modern elves who were unprepared and unfamiliar with the demon. Banal could twist thoughts to despair, destroy the will to live, and drain the vitality from most mortals in mere heartbeats.

The demon moaned again, the sound making Solas' blood run cold as it reached out and caught another elven mage, a single young woman this time, with a tendril of darkness. She froze, staring as the other mages had, then collapsed to her knees, dropping her staff as tears poured from her eyes. When her skin paled again in the greenish light from his veilfire orbs Solas again petrified her rather than feed Banal.

_How many have been lost?_ Solas wondered but pushed the thought aside. He couldn't afford weakness or doubt. Not now.

"You will not prevail," Veredhe raged, wind whipping about the courtyard again. Solas hurled Fade stone at her, giving the extra physical attack to aid the mages in keeping her in check.

Then Mathrel was at his side, his expression hard and grim, his spectral blade glowing a brilliant white-gold. "Fen'Harel suledin," he said. _Dread Wolf endures._

Solas offered him a tight smile as they turned their full fury on the remaining three demons. Isa'anaris was the first to show weakness, chattering in a dry sound like a thousand locust wings. The mages who'd been afflicted with vomiting from its touch recovered, returning to attack with renewed fury. Under their assault, and with Solas' ongoing help to ensure the Anaris demons stayed pinned in place, Isa glowed suddenly bright, as if catching fire. Its form dissolved away into uncountable dust motes that filled the air, wafted away by Veredhe's ongoing wrath.

Only two remaining now.

Sensing the danger now that three of the five of them had died, Veredhe tried to flee. One moment she was pushing mages about with her wind, struggling to find the power to bludgeon more of them against the stone or blow them off the precipice, the next she had transformed into water. The mages gasped as one, scrambling backward and casting barriers over themselves in a flurry.

"She flees," Solas shouted and Fade stepped to block her path toward the abyss. Popping out of it, Solas pummeled her formless, watery mass with veilstrike and firestorm simultaneously, trapping her. "Your time has ended!"

Her cackling filled the air, but it held a manic edge that sounded like fear. If she or the other demons could bleed, Solas knew she would've been hemorrhaging buckets of it. She'd exhausted much of her energy in her first powerful attack and now found herself unable to do enough damage to stop the inevitable.

Still, she would not go down easily. Veredhe lunged at him, her form an enormous wave, devoid of any clear shape. She crashed against Solas' barrier, her watery essence trying to drown him. Solas flung her back with a mindblast. She shrieked, letting out another earsplitting cry as the mages closed in on her from behind, resuming their attack. And then, suddenly, it was over as her watery form shimmered, evaporating into air.

With his heart pounding at the nearness of triumph, Solas Fade stepped to be closer to Banal, the last remaining Forgotten One. This had been the demon that inadvertently rescued him from Andruil when she captured him and bound him to a "tree," one of the metal structures that collected stray magic from the air in Elvhenan. The "tree" had drained his magic, keeping him too weak to escape…but fortunately Banal'anaris had come by.

"Fen'Harel," it howled in a voice as mournful and sad as the wind, speaking directly into his mind. Solas kept it pinned with constant veilstrikes and fireballs, forcing it against the stone wall behind it. "You will die alone, unloved and forgotten. You bring death to all you care for."

Clenching his jaw, Solas ignored it, assaulting it with veilstrike after veilstrike, flicking his right hand while the left sent fireballs raining down on it. The other mages shot lightning and ice, making the air crackle and hiss. Over two hundred of them fought for a spot to cast, the air charged with their magic as it rained down in an unending torrent. With so much magic in the air Solas could almost close his eyes and imagine he was back in Elvhenan, that the Fade and the real world were as one again and the People immortal as they should be.

"Traitor," Banal repeated, dragging the word out in that same bone chilling cry that echoed inside his skull. "Harellan. Monster. You will lose your lover as your enemies steal her away. She will curse you with her dying breath. Your child will never know you and deny its heritage in shame, bowed and broken as a slave in Tevinter."

Despite himself, Solas felt anxiety lick its way from the very base of his belly, cold and quivering. Banal had no eyes, no face to tell him it watched him, but Solas knew that it did, and like Cole it read him beneath the surface. Like its far simpler brethren, fear demons, it knew just what to say to set its victims on edge. Solas quashed his reaction, focusing on the magic he cast.

Soon, minutes later though it felt like hours, Banal'anaris let out a long wheezy sigh and its black essence fluttered, shrinking as it entered its death throes. Its voice called out one last time, howling in its despairing wail. "She has already fled from you, Fen'Harel. Your loss is nigh."

And then the demon evaporated as all the others had. There was a moment of silence, eerie and heavy as the weight of the rock that would've been over them had this truly been the Deep Roads. Then, suddenly, a single young man whooped with triumph and, right on cue, the other mages raised their voices in celebration. The Dalish praised Mythal while the city elves cried out to the Maker in jubilation. As one they also shouted his name, their grinning, dirt and blood smeared faces turning to him, gleaming in the white-green pallor of the veilfire orbs still hovering over the courtyard.

Solas stayed stoic through their cheers, wolf headdress still in place—with the help of magic of course—and let them have their moment of victory. Yet, already his mind churned with a cold, slow-dawning fear that made his stomach clench and his blood turn icy in his veins. Banal'anaris was wrong. It was taunting him in death. It could not actually predict the future and there was no way it could know whether Ellana _was_ somehow gone. Everything it knew it had to have spied from the real world using blood magic to communicate with mages who practiced that craft—or, more directly, it had to read the minds of those around it. No one here could know anything more than he did, which meant the demon was blustering…

And then, abruptly, Solas saw the glimmer of two arcane warriors through the crowd, resplendent in their armor as they stood side by side, whispering together: Mathrel and Lyris.

_Lyris…_

Gnashing his teeth and clenching his fists, Solas swallowed, trying to dispel the rising cold and tension in his chest. Thrusting a fist into the air, he silenced the celebrating mages. "We must gather the wounded and the dead and depart this place."

Their triumph cooled now as they reluctantly turned to this new and unpleasant task. A few of the apostates used blood magic for healing while the others used traditional Fade-based magic healing. There were dozens of wounded or stricken, some who could walk after Veredhe had smashed them against a wall or who were merely dizzy and nauseous from Isa'anaris' attack, but the chaos demon had left a handful dying or so utterly broken that no amount of healing spells could mend them. It was slow work, excruciating for Solas as he could not leave the prison construct as their leader.

He met with Lyris and Mathrel immediately after seeing the mages move into action, trying to ignore the shaking that'd started in his hands. He tucked them behind his back, hoping that if he projected authority and strength he'd feel it as well.

"Lyris," he said, lips twisting in a frown and his voice strangled despite his attempt to keep it calm. "Why are you here?"

The fear and pain warping her face set his heart galloping inside his chest. Ducking her chin solemnly, Lyris averted her gaze. "I tried to stop her, Fen'Harel, truly I did. She refused to listen."

"Ellana?" he asked, the name icy and rough in his mouth.

"Yes," she replied, choking. Her throat bobbed in the dim green light as she swallowed. "One of the sentinels attacked me—Arina. And a member of her clan. Ellana fled with Arina, her clansmen, and her Inquisition friends through the eluvian. I tracked them—I can show you where they fled. She told me where they planned to go as well."

"Where?" Solas asked, his voice deadpan. The cold in his chest had risen to his throat like bile. He swallowed, trying to suppress it though he could feel the flutter of panic building in his guts.

"The Dales," Lyris said. "She wanted you to meet her in the Fade."

"Ir abelas, falon," Mathrel said, his voice gravelly and thick. "But she cannot have gone far."

"She will be with Abelas," Solas muttered, more to himself than the warriors. "The sentinels have betrayed us." _Mythal played me._ He felt like vomiting and swallowed again, struggling to maintain composure. Banal'anaris' voice echoed through his mind again: _You will lose your lover as your enemies steal her away. She will curse you with her dying breath._

"Zevanni and I can lead the mages back to Hellathen Hamin," Mathrel suggested, brow knitting and eyes pinched with sympathy. "Lyris can accompany you to find Ellana."

"No," Solas said, growling. "I cannot leave without the army." It was true. As their leader he could not retreat without losing face. Yet panic continued to thrash inside him, its icy fingers clawing at his throat. _She could be injured, she could be killed. The Anchor could destabilize and no one else can sever her arm as safe and painlessly—_ He cut off the flow of thoughts by staring hard into Mathrel's face and inhaling deep as he let the facts and the reality of the situation settle onto his shoulders. He could not go to her himself yet, but he could send his warriors.

"Find her," he told Mathrel and Lyris, motioning at them both with one hand before clenching his fist and tucking it behind his back again. It'd been trembling. "See to it that she is safe."

The warriors bowed to him and then whipped around, Fade stepping in their haste to leave the construct. Solas let out a long breath as they disappeared in the sea of modern elven mages. _Harm her Mythal,_ he thought, _and I promise I will obliterate every last trace of you over Thedas._

* * *

Abelas and the rest of his sentinels spread out in the clearing around the rift, drawing runes. The sun had set now, spreading a chilly, somber darkness over the forest as Ellana trailed after Abelas, watching as he drew slightly different runes on stones and trees around the clearing. He had healed his palm as apparently the runes in the physical world didn't require blood for the binding. Instead he used a lump of charcoal to sketch them and then stepped back allowing Ellana to use the Anchor on them. The crackling noise of the Anchor tore through the still night air, bouncing from the trees. These runes gleamed a bright green as she activated them.

Cole had joined them after a few minutes, startling the sentinels at first before Ellana, Dorian, and Iron Bull calmed them. Now he lingered behind her, shadowing her steps but not speaking as she moved between the eight runes, gradually activating them all.

At the last rune Ellana hesitated, her hand outstretched and the Anchor already glowing, though it barely stung her now. "What's going to happen when I finish this?" she asked Abelas with a sidelong glance.

He regarded her with his hands crossed over his chest and a small, tight smile on his lips. "I cannot be certain," he admitted.

"You mean you don't know?" Iron Bull asked, managing to sound both disgusted and shocked simultaneously.

"Oh, how delightful," Dorian put in sarcastically. "What are the odds we cause another Breach? Hmm?"

Abelas shook his head, sneering at Dorian. "I was not awake for the Breach you speak of, but Fen'Harel has told me of it. These runes and the Anchor are hardly powerful enough to cause destruction at any level."

"Can you just guess what will happen?" Ellana pressed him, biting her lip. The baby kicked at her stomach, making her wince.

With a sigh, Abelas motioned to the charcoal rune. "These runes bind locations or objects. Similar runes are used to connect eluvians. When the circle is complete the eight runes in the Fade join with the eight runes here, in the physical realm. The Veil will tear wider as the connection is formed, but it will seal and stabilize along the runes."

"And will this joining be violent?" Ellana asked, unable to hide the concern and doubt in her voice.

"There will be some physical manifestations," Abelas confirmed. "But I suspect you will not notice the environment changing much now, during the night. In the morning you will see that the sky has been altered to look more like that of the raw Fade." He paused, an unreadable expression passing over his face in the darkness. "Or, more correctly, of Elvhenan and Thedas as it was truly meant to be."

"Colors in the sky, yellow and pink and green. Crystals glittering in the trees, cities floating on the air," Cole rambled.

Ellana blinked at him, remembering abruptly that Abelas and his sentinels had all _seen_ and _lived_ when the Fade and the waking world were one.

"Solas told me the Evanuris would have been released if Corypheus had destroyed the Veil entirely," she said, flexing her left hand as she hesitated, drawing it back to stare at the gleaming crease in her palm. "If I activate this rune, will I be—"

"No," Abelas said with a shake of his head. "This will be but a small hole, little more than a rift still. The Veil will endure."

"And what about the beings of the Fade?" Ellana asked, frowning as she indicated Cole though he didn't show any sign he'd noticed, merely watching them innocently. "Solas will never accept it if they aren't free and restored as well. Morrigan—" She stopped, rephrasing it. "My understanding was that Mythal planned to use coexistence with spirits as a deterrent to humans who would try to take the Dales back from us."

Iron Bull grunted. "More than just humans. Fucking demons. You can count me out if this place is crawling with those things, Boss. Sorry."

"I understand, Bull," she said, flashing him a quick smile. "But it'd be spirits we'd want to let in, not demons."

"Fear, cold and biting, claws cutting, blood dripping on fangs," Cole muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," Iron Bull snapped at the spirit.

Abelas smirked now. "Frightened of demons, are you?"

"Fuck off," Iron Bull growled, glaring. He grunted, hefting his axe up and resting it over one shoulder, as if ready to cut down the sentinel at the next insult.

"Yes," Dorian added with a snarl. "My sentiments exactly. I'm still not clear on _why_ doing this is a good idea for anyone, except that it somehow benefits elves."

Ellana ignored them, staring at Abelas as she awaited an answer regarding spirits. The sentinel frowned. "In truth I am uncertain how Mythal intends to rectify this unfortunate issue. She did not create the Veil, so her understanding of it will be limited compared to Fen'Harel's knowledge. However, I suspect that additional runes could be added to create a barrier allowing spirits free passage while blocking demons. It may take time to uncover which runes will work." His smile was dry. "And, of course, Fen'Harel is the one best suited to such investigation."

Grinning, Ellana let out a quick laugh, feeling hope bubbling inside her. "We'll lure Solas into helping us with that for sure. It combines his two favorite things: learning and spirits."

"Yes," Dorian muttered. "How wonderful for him, though I thought his two favorite things were lying and half-truths. Ellana, my dear, I can't help but notice you haven't answered my question. Other than adding some charming slime-exuding rocks in the sky, how does the Fade help your people so much that Solas would obsess over it?"

Before Ellana could answer, Abelas did. "Ellana will be able to show you that herself once the final rune is activated." Motioning again to the charcoal mark on the rock in front of her, the sentinel nodded meaningfully. "In regards to your earlier question about what will happen when the runes join—the environmental manifestations will be subtle. But the physical ones…" His eyes glinted and his lips curled in a real smile. "You have never tasted the Fade as you were meant to, da'len."

The intimacy of the diminutive elven term made Ellana's cheeks blush. "Am I in any danger?" she asked, her right hand going at once to her belly.

Abelas' smile broadened slightly. "Quite the opposite, I expect."

"Skin warm, heart pounding with joy, the magic singing in my veins again," Cole whispered, probably reading Abelas, Ellana suspected. But he made a good point, reminding her of one of the primary reasons why the Fade mattered so much to the People. _I'll become a mage,_ she realized and something like awe swept over her in a little chill.

Iron Bull growled. "I don't like this…"

"Yes," Dorian grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "You both are being insufferably cagey. Perhaps—"

Ellana summoned the Anchor and let out a blast of magic from it before Dorian could finish. Both non-elves yelped—but not Cole who seemed unfazed. Dorian and Iron Bull tensed and took a step away as the magic swirled over the rune, setting it aglow. It activated with a hiss and a bright glow, and instantaneously Ellana felt her skin tingling, prickling in pins and needles that rose in intensity until she let out a gasp.

"The song," Cole exclaimed, grinning. "Can't you feel it?"

A sudden, strong wind whipped through the clearing, rustling the trees, scattering leaves over her like rain. The Fade rift behind them pulsed and then vanished, like a candle snuffed out by a giant's breath. Water droplets pelted them, clattering on the canopy and the earth around them. Mist rose from the ground in vaporous tendrils and the air took on a sweeter smell that made Ellana's heart swell in her chest, beating with something hot and pleasurable and unnamable.

She felt…energetic. Alive. Laughter burst out of her, uncontrollable for several seconds. Abelas and the sentinels had all started grinning, their faces lit with joy.

"The fuck is going on?" Iron Bull asked, eyes flicking over the elves.

"It seems there's some kind of hilarious joke we're not part of," Dorian said grumpily.

* * *

In the prison construct, Solas stood over a mage who'd been tossed like a ragdoll by Veredhe's wind. The impact had shattered his thighbone and now he writhed in agony despite several other mages pouring health potions down his throat. "Maker, please," he ground out, fingers digging at the stone and face wrenched with his pain.

"Try to relax," Solas said and held out his right hand over the man's leg. Closing his eyes, he drew heavily on his core, providing the simple spell with more power than any of the other mages, even the Elvhen ones, could have managed. As the blue glow flowed from his palm to the man's leg the mage gasped, trembling as he finally found some relief.

But just at the tail end of the spell, Solas flinched, clenching his fist and cutting off the flow of magic. He stiffened, raising his head and searching around the darkness, blinking. His draw of mana had briefly surged, startling him. Looking around he saw a few other healers had been interrupted as well and now stared through the dim green light of veilfire with confused expressions.

The mage groaned, head lolling. "Thank you," he said. "Maker bless you, Dread Wolf."

Normally Solas would've found that entertaining, but now his thoughts were jumbled, rife with confusion. What had just happened?

* * *

Struggling to contain the peals of laughter still pressing against her throat, Ellana laid a hand over Dorian's forearm, trying to reassure him. "It's…like nothing I've felt before." Shaking her head, she found her mind blanking, unable to find the words to do it justice. "You don't feel it?"

"He's shemlen," Abelas reminded her. Despite the narrowing of his eyes and the pinching of his lips as he looked at Dorian and Iron Bull, his voice was lighthearted and almost gentle. "They do not have the People's connection to the Fade."

"Excuse me?" Dorian snapped, scowling. "As a mage I _do_ happen to have a connection to the Fade. A strong one, in fact. It just doesn't make me want to dance naked under the moonlight the way it apparently does for elves."

"Only priestesses of Sylaise performed that ritual," Abelas said, frowning.

"Pale bodies in the milky moonlight, honeyed words on the wind," Cole said, earning a sidelong glare from Abelas.

Dorian guffawed. "I knew it! The Imperium couldn't be wrong about _everything_ elven, now could it?"

Unable to hold her reaction in at his comment and Abelas' sincerity in the explanation, Ellana burst out laughing again. The baby kicked, flexing inside her, as if it too felt the change or sensed her joy.

And then, from the ruins outside the clearing, Arina's voice shouted, "Abelas! Fen'Harel has sent his warrior pets!" The rogue appeared around the trunk of a massive tree, emerging from hidden stairs leading underground, racing for the circle of runes. Two streaks of blue-white followed, quickly overtaking her. Mathrel popped out of Fade step and rammed Arina, knocking her back into Lyris who immediately pushed the rogue prone with a mindblast.

"Stop," Ellana shouted at them. "Don't hurt her." Something seemed to flex inside her, warm and tingling. She reached out instinctually, as if she could help Arina despite the fact they were meters away and outside the circle of runes, and purple-white crackled through the air. Yelping, Ellana scrambled backward, stumbling, but Abelas and Dorian both grabbed her at once, keeping her upright. On her shoulders she felt Cole's touch as well, gentle and soft.

She stared, uncomprehending, as the jagged energy—lightning, she realized—arced through the air and slammed into the ground beside Mathrel's feet. The arcane warrior responded by casting a barrier immediately, though the way his mouth fell open revealed his shock. Lyris wore a similar expression and even Arina, shaking off the mindblast, raised her head with a curious look on her features.

"Fenedhis," Ellana cursed, her own jaw hanging open.

"That's a new trick for you, Boss," Iron Bull said with a grunt.

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian exclaimed, giving Ellana a little shake. "You're a _mage!"_

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Hold up a moment," Dorian interjected, raising his voice and spreading his hands in a gesture revealing his incredulity. "Are we really _not_ going to discuss what just happened? Am I perhaps seeing things now or Ellana, did you just…" He waggled the fingers of one hand. "Yes. You did. I know you did. I saw it _and_ felt it. How did you cast _lightning_?"

"Our people are _all_ gifted with magic when the Fade and the waking world are one," Ellana told him, closing her eyes as she struggled to quell the tempest of tight, pleasurable energy swimming inside her. Breathing deeply to keep herself calm and suddenly afraid of making any unthinking gesture with her hands, Ellana crossed her arms over her belly.

"Oh," Dorian said with a hum. "Interesting." He turned and tapped the back of his hand onto Iron Bull's chest. "What about you?"

Iron Bull snorted. "I got nothing."

* * *


	26. Friendly Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana expands the Fade-restored area in the Dales, but disaster strikes. Not everyone in her party is comfortable with restoring the Fade.

"Fen'Harel sent us to find you," Mathrel said to Ellana in his low, rough voice, breaking the silence that'd descended in the shock after Ellana had accidentally let _lightning_ slip from her fingers.

Dorian snorted. "Really? I'd never have guessed."

Both arcane warriors glared at Dorian, but it was Lyris who returned her gaze to Ellana and when she spoke it was with anger. "Do you know what danger you put yourself in by leaving his side? You endanger both yourself and your child."

"This may come as a shock to you," Ellana said with a scowl of annoyance. "But I've spent years in dangerous situations as Inquisitor and even before that as a hunter in my clan. I think I can take care of myself without Solas for a few hours."

"He lied to me," Cole murmured behind her under his breath. "How can I tell the lies from the truth? Pain, in my throat, in my chest. Your father's going to be so angry with me, little one."

"Seriously," Iron Bull growled, glowering at the spirit boy. "Knock that crap off."

"Hold up a moment," Dorian interjected, raising his voice and spreading his hands in a gesture revealing his incredulity. "Are we really _not_ going to discuss what just happened? Am I perhaps seeing things now or Ellana, did you just…" He waggled the fingers of one hand. "Yes. You did. I know you did. I saw it _and_ felt it. How did you cast _lightning_?"

"It is the Fade, shemlen," Abelas answered, curt and to the point.

"Meaning what, exactly?" Dorian rejoined, one hand on his hip. "That I hallucinated the lightning? That _all_ of us imagined it?"

"Our people are _all_ gifted with magic when the Fade and the waking world are one," Ellana told him, closing her eyes as she struggled to quell the tempest of tight, pleasurable energy swimming inside her. Breathing deeply to keep herself calm and suddenly afraid of making any unthinking gesture with her hands, Ellana crossed her arms over her belly.

"Oh," Dorian said with a hum. "Interesting." He turned and tapped the back of his hand onto Iron Bull's chest. "What about you?"

Iron Bull snorted. "I got nothing."

"Enough," Mathrel shouted from outside the rune circle. He brandished his spectral blade, filling the humid, peaceful night air with a loud buzzing like enormous angry hornets. The blade glowed whitish in color, reflecting from Mathrel's armored thighs. "Abelas, you and your sentinels have betrayed Fen'Harel and poured lies into Ellana's ears to turn her against him in the name of your false goddess. Your _dead_ false goddess."

Abelas spat something vicious in elven and his sentinels tensed, their hands raised and open, ready to cast. The few rogues within the circle of runes readied their bows and Ellana wondered dizzily how magic impacted archery even as she knew she couldn't sate that curiosity now. She couldn't let these Elvhen fools start slaughtering each other in the names of their respective Evanuris.

"Stop," she shouted, gripping her armor with both hands to keep herself from accidentally casting something. "Stop this. You're being _ridiculous._ " Glaring at Mathrel, she said, "I came here willingly and I will not be dragged back to Solas as if I'm some sort disobedient child." Before he could retort, Ellana pivoted to glower at Abelas. "And you, order your sentinels to stand down. There's no need for us to fight. We share the same goals."

Abelas glared at her, his lip curling, but he said nothing, remaining frozen. His sentinels stayed tensed, ready to let their magic and their arrows fly.

Licking her lips, Ellana pressed on, determined to convince him. "Hahren," she said, lowering her voice with respect. "There are too few Elvhen remaining. All of your lives are valuable. The People—my people—will need your wisdom." She hesitated a second and then added, "And Mythal's wisdom."

Now the sentinel's body language eased. He made a slight gesture toward the other sentinels and they relaxed, lowering their hands and weapons. "Thank you, lethallan," he said with a nod to her. "You remind us of what is important. I only pray the warriors will take heed as I have."

At that, Mathrel's spectral blade winked out and he waved a hand dismissively at Arina. "Go," he snarled at her. The rogue was on her feet in an instant, springing for the circle of runes. As she passed through it Ellana saw greenish light swirl over her for a moment and the rogue gasped, suddenly grinning.

"Fenedhis," she swore and laughed. "I forgot how _good_ magic feels." Her eyes found Ellana's and unbidden both women started laughing despite the turmoil of moments ago.

"Fingers tingling, skin alive. How did I live without this? How could I forget this feeling?" Cole said, whispering as his own face lit up with a smile. "I'm glad."

Looking between her fellow sentinels, Arina smirked and abruptly cast veilfire, holding the green flames in her palms. The white-green light lit the grin on her face garishly. Another sentinel, a man who carried a bow in his left hand, used the other to summon veilfire as well. Chuckling, the two began tossing the orbs between them, making the green lights dance.

Watching them made Ellana's hands close into fists, her eyes following the light. The energy inside her curled, flexing as if with eagerness. She held it back, suddenly remembering all the horror stories she'd heard during her time with the Inquisition of young children first manifesting their talents and destroying homes or entire villages with their ignorant, clumsy casting. Even in her clan there were stories of such things, though they were mostly amusing rather than frightening. Ellana's father had often talked of accidentally setting fire to the clearing around their camp, frightening the halla. And Mahanon had frozen a campfire after burning himself when his talent first manifested.

"It is true then," Mathrel said from outside the circle. "You have restored the Fade within that tiny area." The slight curl of his upper lip revealed he wasn't happy, though Ellana didn't know why until he added, "Such a small space will help no one. Are we to cram thousands of the people into that one clearing? I think not."

"We will expand it," Ellana explained, patient and calm. "It will take time and we could be vulnerable to attack, but this is the right course for our people."

"For our people or is it merely that you wish to preserve your lover's life?" Mathrel asked, shaking his head and frowning. "Fen'Harel is more powerful than you know. He may yet survive tearing down the Veil. Your plan—" Cutting himself off, Mathrel sneered at Abelas. "Mythal's plan, will take years to accomplish."

"We'll start small," Ellana insisted, ignoring his comment that she was motivated more by saving Solas than anything else. "And it may take years, yes, but this way will save both the People and the other races of Thedas." She sensed Dorian and Iron Bull listening intently and could almost feel their frowns as they tried to ferret out how exactly Solas or the elves planned to conquer Thedas.

"But we will need Fen'Harel's help," Abelas added, stepping closer to her. His armor gleamed green from the veilfire orbs that Arina and the other sentinels had cast in the clearing while playing. "We must find a way to allow sprits to pass through the rune circle and there is no one better suited or motivated for such a task."

 _Appealing to Solas' ego_ and _his interest in spirits,_ Ellana thought as she shot Abelas a sidelong glance. _Clever._

"Then I will bring him," Mathrel said, though the unhappy twist of his features was still obvious. He turned to Lyris and, in a rare display of affection, laid a hand on her cheek. "Remain here, emma lath. I will return shortly."

Lyris gripped his hand and nodded. As he jogged away, the sound of the underbrush rustling as he passed, Lyris faced the circle of runes. She tucked her hands behind her back, squaring her shoulders as the warrior she was. "Ellana, I will protect you until—"

"I can protect myself," Ellana interrupted her with a shake of her head. At Lyris' brief flash of dismay Ellana sighed and made an effort to relax, keeping her voice softer as she added, "But you're welcome to step inside the circle." Glancing to Abelas, she said, "And I'd like to start expanding this. We have a lot of work yet to do."

Abelas arched an eyebrow. "Indeed we do, da'len." Motioning off to their left, deeper into the glade of trees, he said, "Might I suggest you begin another rift over there. We shall tie the runes together so the circles overlap just slightly."

Flexing her hand, feeling the Anchor respond with more strength—and yet less pain—than she ever had before, Ellana grinned. "All right then." Turning her head to Lyris, she motioned at the warrior. "Come on. Let's get to work."

* * *

 

The army of mages flowed out from the prison construct eluvian and into the Crossroads in a steady, but slow line. Solas watched them from a nearby island with Zevanni as his side. He counted them with his gaze, assessing each mage for any telltale signs that his or her magic had failed and left them exposed to Blight. If the wards failed the mages would glimmer brightly with a sheen of red due to another enchantment that exposed Blight infection. So far, thankfully, his precautions had held and none carried the infection.

They'd lost more than he'd hoped, but fewer than he'd expected. With Abelas and the sentinels already gone their numbers had been less than three hundred strong. Now they were closer to two-hundred only with another twenty five heavily wounded. Solas had been forced to perform a mercy killing on a few men and women who'd been too close to Banal'anaris and Geldauran and succumbed to the nothingness or the mindless rage of the demons after the ferocity of the fight had ended. Still others could succumb to the exposure later. Solas would have to keep an eye on them and provide time for the little army to recover before conducting any other raids or skirmishes.

He'd have to rely on trade, hunting, or Zevanni's guerrilla force tactics with the warriors and rogues still at camp to feed this army. Before he could stop it, his mind turned to Ellana, wondering if she'd eaten well and if she was safe. She'd complained of indigestion and an inability to eat much in one sitting now as the child had grown bigger. Solas usually spent his evenings and mornings trying to persuade her to keep eating.

 _She won't be there when you return,_ the hateful voice in his head reminded him. _Abelas took her._ His hands clenched into fists and his heart began to race, sweat breaking out where the wolf headdress met with his scalp.

"You're upset," Zevanni observed aloud. In a sidelong glance Solas saw her frown as she gestured to the army still walking past below. "I call this a triumph, yet you're brooding." She hesitated as he turned his head, staring at her with his lips pressed into a hard line. Then she sighed. "I saw Lyris and Mathrel leave. This has something to do with your pet shem, doesn't it? The one round with your elfling?"

"I would rather not discuss it," Solas said, curt and cold.

"I didn't see her by the eluvian when we left," Zevanni said with a smirk. "Did you leave without telling her? How cruel, Fen'Harel." Yet, the way her voice cracked with amusement, Solas knew she apparently didn't disapprove.

"As I said," Solas repeated, growling now. "I would rather not discuss it."

"Fen'Harel enansal," she replied with a dry chuckle. "Ma nuvenin, in all things." The suggestive lilt of her voice made it clear he could—and she hoped he would—ask for something naughty.

Solas ignored her, staring stoic and unblinking at the army as it filed past.

A few minutes later, as Solas and Zevanni turned to change position and move along with the mages traveling below between islands; Solas heard the whine and pop of someone Fade stepping. A few moments later he saw the accompanying blue-white streak and recognized Mathrel, hurrying toward them over the void. Heart suddenly pounding up into his throat, Solas Fade stepped forward and teleported a few times to close the distance faster, leaving Zevanni behind. He and Mathrel met on a rock spit parallel to the army passing by several meters away.

"What news?" he asked the warrior at once.

Mathrel breathed quickly, winded and with his mana low from the rapid travel and constant casting. "She is well," he said, doubtless knowing Solas would care first and foremost for her health. "They did not go far from the eluvian." After another breathe he added, "She is in the Dales. With Abelas and the sentinels."

"I suspected as much," Solas growled. Noting Lyris wasn't with him, Solas asked, "You left Lyris with them?"

Mathrel nodded. "Yes, falon. I could not risk leaving her unprotected."

A little of the cold fear setting his heart pounding eased. "Ma serannas," he thanked the other elf. Glancing to the army, he heard Zevanni pop out of Fade step behind him and clenched his jaw, making his decision. He had already healed and tended to the army as much as he could and had little need to remain here overseeing them personally.

"Zevanni," he called, looking over his shoulder at her. "You are to finish escorting the army back to Hellathen Hamin. Ensure none are infected with Blight, malice, or the nothing."

"And where will you go, Fen'Harel?" she asked, the frown on her face carried heavy in her voice.

"I must see to the sentinels who betrayed us," he told her, lighthearted despite the hard smile on his lips. "It would be rude of me to keep them waiting."

She grinned, approving now. "Ma nuvenin," she said and Fade stepped away to stand watch over the army from a higher vantage point.

"Ellana will resist if you intend to punish Abelas," Mathrel muttered in warning. "She was adamant we not fight one another."

"I understand this," Solas said with a nod. "My words were for Zevanni."

A knowing look flashed through Mathrel's eyes, but he made no comment. "I will take you to the eluvian if you are ready."

Solas motioned outward, indicating the Crossroads. "I am, falon."

Mathrel took off in a Fade step and after a heartbeat, Solas did the same. Their shapes streaked together through the Crossroads as they veered away from the army.

* * *

 

With the experience of creating one rune circle behind them, Ellana and Abelas worked faster now completing the second. After destroying the demons that poured from the rift she opened, Ellana joined Abelas, several sentinels, Dorian, and Lyris walking physically through the Fade. Different sentinels cut their hands to supply the blood for the new runes this time, shouldering the burden of blood magic amongst themselves.

The Fade was dank and dark, the sand clinging to her feet and making slick sucking sounds with every step. Dorian and Lyris stayed closest to Ellana, protective shadows like two parents shepherding their clumsy daughter. The thought made Ellana's face burn all the way to the tips of her pointed ears. She quashed her indignity however when she found herself stumbling as she walked toward the first of the runes written in sentinel blood. Both Dorian and Lyris reached for her, keeping her steady.

Gripping them both, Ellana frowned as the blush spread over her cheeks. "Thank you," she said, speaking mostly to Dorian. Looking at Lyris reminded her of Solas' lie. The arcane warrior was, after all, just a glorified spy and babysitter for Solas.

"We can't have you falling in that muck now, can we?" Dorian asked, smiling at her warmly though she didn't miss the strain in his brown eyes. "And unfortunately for us, I suspect that little belly of yours isn't made out of rubber so you're not liable to bounce."

"She would hurt herself and the child," Lyris said, her voice sharp with reprimand.

"I _know_ that," Dorian said with a little irritated huff.

Shooting Lyris an annoyed look of her own, Ellana tugged her arm from the warrior's grip. "He was making a joke."

"It was a poor one," Lyris said, deadpan.

"At least I have a sense of humor," Dorian retorted icily. "Something lacking it would seem in most of you pompous elven mages—including that bald buffoon who thinks he's a wolf."

Ellana rolled her eyes and slogged her way through the sand when she saw Abelas turn to throw them all an impatient look. "Come on, we have work to do."

Lyris fell behind her, body language stiff and tense though her face was neutral.

After activating all of the blood runes they returned to the physical world once more. As they stepped through the Fade rift Dorian moved to her left side while Abelas stayed on her right. "Are you sure it's wise to keep using the Anchor like this?" Dorian asked her, a note of concern in his voice.

"Honestly it hurts less now than it has all day since I came through the eluvians," Ellana said as she strode to the first rune spot. She found the Anchor sluggish outside of the first circle, requiring her to concentrate and focus on summoning it as Abelas finished the first rune on the tree trunk in front of them. A moment later it crackled to life and she shot a bolt of green energy at the mark, activating it.

"I suppose we have you to thank for the lack of pain she's experiencing?" Dorian asked Abelas.

The sentinel barely spared him a glance before striding to the next cardinal point and picking out a suitable rock to draw the rune on. He squatted, making quick slashes over the stone. "Discharging the Anchor would make it more comfortable, I imagine. Though I suspect Ellana will be able to discharge it herself with practice."

Following him, Ellana asked, "Can you teach me?"

"Of course, lethallan." Standing upright again, he motioned at the rune. "But let us complete this circle first. With at least two circles we will be able to make camp within the space."

Ellana activated the next several runes until she was finally at the last of them and found herself grinning as she raised her palm toward it, already anticipating the rush of the Fade as it meshed with reality. With a last blast of the green light from the Anchor, the runes activated and again the rush of wind tore through the treetops, scattering gray-green leaves and splattering them with a fine mist of water. The ether of the Fade wafted up from the ground, curling and whispering over Ellana's skin as the sweet, heady pleasure of what she now realized was magic swelled inside her.

Cole laughed behind her, saying, "The trees are happy!"

The Fade rift in the center of the second circle had winked out of existence, leaving the night air dark except for the veilfire orbs still hovering overtop of the first rune circle. Lyris was the first to cast veilfire now, her face beaming in the white-green light. After the third orb she let out a sigh, shoulders sagging. "I'd almost forgotten how it felt…"

"And the best part is Solas doesn't wind up slaughtering half of Thedas—or killing himself," Ellana said, eyes narrowed at Lyris even as the pleasure of magic still bubbled through her. When Lyris met her gaze, her expression saddened, Ellana realized at once that the warrior agreed with her. The shock of seeing it made her mouth fall open. "You agree with me?" she asked, needing to be sure.

Lyris' eyes drifted shut. "I care nothing for sparing the modern world, only the People." Opening her eyes again, she spoke in a quieter, more intimate voice. "And Solas."

The power of the warrior using Solas' name instead of his Evanuris title made Ellana blink, taken aback. She wondered at the strength of feeling she saw in the warrior's face, at the devotion she'd shown. Even though she and Mathrel proclaimed Solas to be a leader, not a god, their devotion rivaled that of the sentinels.

"Yes," Dorian interjected with a snarl, arms crossed over his chest. "How pleasant it is to hear all this. And how, pray tell, do you elves plan on destroying Thedas again?"

"That is not something we will discuss with you, shemlen," Abelas muttered, then looked at Ellana. "Are you fatigued or would you perhaps enjoy creating another circle?" Pointing back in the direction of the ruins, he said, "I would enjoy the shock on Fen'Harel's face when he emerges through the mirror and finds himself in the Fade." He smirked. "Wouldn't you, da'len?"

"Do you have a death wish?" Lyris asked with a growl. "Fen'Harel was…" Her brow knit. "…angry when I last saw him. If he is unprepared for the transition—"

"I say do it," Dorian said, smirking mischievously. "I want to see what's so impressive about that bastard because I fought beside him and he was no more talented than Vivienne or myself."

Lyris, Ellana, and Abelas ignored Dorian's interjection, staring at one another while the other sentinels lurked around the edges of the circle, tense and alert. Iron Bull stood conspicuously outside the two circles, closer to the ruins, leaning against a tree and with his chin lowered to his chest, probably nodding off.

It was Cole who broke the thick silence, jabbering in his usual spirit way. "They don't know, haven't seen. The fire roars, louder than the wind from a high-dragon's wings. The sun gleams on his armor, but none can touch him. His eyes glow and warriors turn to stone, shatter into dust. After the battle, grit crunches on my teeth. The taste of ash—but it used to be a _person_. Hundreds dead, burned away in heartbeats."

Staring at Cole, Ellana shivered. Searching both Abelas and Lyris' reactions to the spirit boy's comments, she noted that the arcane warrior had gone stiff, her jaw clenching. It was Lyris Cole had read, but Ellana had already suspected as much. Abelas had served Mythal in her temple, possibly in her army. Had he ever fought at her side? Had he ever seen firsthand what she was capable of? And how did Mythal compare to Solas?

"Perhaps you are right," Abelas said to Lyris with a significant nod. "Fen'Harel has not tasted the Fade properly in some time. He should be warned before entering it."

"I'd still like to create another circle," Ellana said, thrusting out her chin and squaring her shoulders to hide the exhaustion pulling on her bones. "We do have a tremendous about of work ahead of us. There's no sense stopping now."

Abelas smiled. "I admire your enthusiasm, lethallan."

They moved to the first circle and then headed further from the ruins that held the eluvian, deeper into the forest by a few steps. Leaving the runes made her feel immediately weaker. Her steps slowed, as everything in her body seemed to cry out with loss. The warm coil of energy inside her vanished, leaving a hollow and empty sensation in its wake. How had she not noticed it before? The ache continued unabated, reminding her of the loss, though until only a short time ago she'd never known she was missing something. It was as if she'd lived her life blind, only to receive vision, grow to love it, and lose it immediately again.

Each circle was only about fifty meters in diameter, large enough to pitch a few tents within but small when juxtaposed with how enormous they'd need to spread them to encompass the Emerald Graves—let alone the Dales. Considering it made Ellana's head feel thick and heavy as she walked into the center of the new position. Yet she could feel the icy breath of time clawing at her and the baby kicked, reminding her how difficult this would soon become when she was saddled with an infant.

"Lethallan?" Abelas asked her, his voice soft as he brushed her forearm with one hand. She jumped, twisting to look at him as she shook off her thoughts.

"Are you well?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her reaction.

"Apologies," she murmured, flushing. She realized her right hand had fallen to her belly, caressing it. She let it drop to her side. "I'm fine." Seeing the sentinels, Lyris, Dorian, and even Iron Bull had all taken up battle ready positions, Ellana summoned the power of the Anchor to open her third Fade rift for the night.

With a crackle the green energy shot out, colliding with the air at about waist level and exploding with spirit energy. The light made her eyes water, bright and beautiful, ether dribbling out of it as Ellana tore it wide enough to draw spirits through. With a little explosion the first demons began to materialize in scattered spots around the rift and Ellana readied her bow, nocking an arrow and drawing it. She picked one particular pool of goo and held her breath.

The green goo rippled and flashed as a despair demon emerged with a wailing shriek. Ellana let her arrow fly with a shout, then scampered to the side, drawing another. Iron Bull lunged in before the demon could get its bearings and target Ellana. He twirled in a circle, slashing with his axe, cutting into its rags and gray skin. The demon shrieked and made a graceful hop, leaping away toward a small hill covered in orange-brown ferns. Roaring, Iron Bull charged after it, but Ellana stayed put, breathing hard and shallow as she tracked the demon with her arrow.

Then, suddenly, from behind the despair demon, voices shouted. Ellana lowered her bow as she saw Rainier appear, his sword slashing and his armor glittering as it reflected the green light from the rift. She grinned as she saw Lerand and Samhel join the fray, hacking and slashing, their slender, lithe bodies dancing around the despair demon, avoiding its chilling ice rays. Iron Bull let out a triumphant laugh as he cut into the despair demon next, making it crumple and dissolve. Its essence streaked away, returning to the Fade through the rift. As all four warriors turned to join her and the sentinels, Ellana found her heart pounding and pride swelling in her chest at the sight of her friends and her clansmen fighting as one unit with such natural ease.

A shriek from behind her was the only warning she had before a terror demon lurched toward her. Ellana scrambled back from it, ducking and weaving and gnashing her teeth. She could have flipped away but the pregnancy had disrupted her balance, making her clumsy enough that she didn't trust herself not to fall and hurt herself—or worse, the baby.

"Someone, help!" she shouted as she continued backing up, hoping to get just enough distance away to draw her bow and shoot.

From in the direction of the first rune circle, Ellana heard and saw movement, recognizing Sera and Mahanon as they sprinted toward her. Mahanon shouted, "Asamalin!" _Sister._

And then several things happened so fast Ellana couldn't keep them straight. She heard Sera shriek and saw a streak of blue-white ice—Mahanon's magic—collide with the terror demon. In the same instant something struck her shoulder hard, knocking her onto one knee. Pain burned through her left shoulder, as fierce as the Anchor was when it needed to be discharged. Had the demon struck her? But she could remember it cringing back from Mahanon's attack…

When she sucked in a breath she found her chest seemed to fight her. Her lungs were aflame and she felt every heartbeat as a fist pummeling her from inside. She coughed, finding that her lungs felt thick with wetness, as if she suddenly had a cold. Panicked thoughts spun as she realized she must be bleeding internally. The terror demon shrieked again overhead and she heard the shouts of the others fighting, but the sounds were faint and tinny in her ears through the haze of pain and panic.

Dizziness made the world spin. She hacked again and this time saw, through blurry vision obscured by tears, that blood had splattered from her mouth to the grass. When she inhaled again her lungs were thick and panic beat a stronger pulse inside her as the suffocating sensation continued, overwhelming even her pain.

 _I'm drowning,_ she thought and coughed again, more violently. _Drowning in my own blood._

Strong hands were on her then, voices shouting and shaking her. The pain in her shoulder burned hotter again but she couldn't find the strength to cry out—coughing was more important. She had to breathe. But every cough brought up the harsh tang of iron, thick and gritting. She spat, trembling as she heard the terrifying gurgling noises coming from her own throat.

Mahanon was in front of her, his hot hands on her cheeks and his hazel eyes gleaming with tears. "Ellana," he yelled. "Stay calm—hold on."

She wanted to speak to him but could only give another weak, liquid cough. Blood spattered onto his cheeks and he flinched but didn't pull away as his hands grabbed at her shoulder, fumbling with the pad and the chainmail.

"Sorry," Sera was shouting, shrill and hysterical. "I'm so, so, so, frigging sorry! I don't know what happened. Don't die! You can't _die!"_

The panic pounding inside her had started to ease as cold settled in. She coughed again, wincing as more hands grabbed at her head and throat, prying open her mouth. It was a healing potion, green and cheerful, but though Ellana tried to swallow it she couldn't keep herself from coughing and jerking her head away as she fought to inhale. "Dammit, Ellana," Dorian yelled, fear twisting his voice, making it thick. "You have to swallow it! _Please!"_

Heat blazed on her shoulder, both front and back. Dimly, Ellana realized Abelas was behind her, knelt and with his hands on her skin. Mahanon was in front of her, tears streaking down his face and intermixing with her blood on his cheeks. She flinched at the pain the heat of their touch caused her, but she didn't have the strength or presence of thought to really pull away.

"We have to pull out the arrow."

"That will kill her, you shem fool. She'll bleed out."

"Then stop it, damn you!"

She couldn't recognize who spoke any more and that made her frown. Everything felt so heavy in her body, but her head had gone light. She coughed again, weakly, her head nodding forward. Hands grabbed her shoulders, tilted her head backward and forced open her mouth again. More liquid poured into her mouth but Ellana couldn't swallow it without choking, gagging and coughing. Her mouth tasted of salt and iron.

And then she heard a high-pitched whine and a loud pop. She thought she should recognize it but didn't have the strength to turn her head and look in that direction. Instead she thought of her baby, of its shadow self in the Fade. She was so tired, her head swimming. Everything hurt and she couldn't breathe. Remembering the dream she'd had of the dark and weightlessness when she'd breathed water, she closed her eyes and thought, _I'm dreaming. Yes, that's it._

Then the world moved, spinning in a new way. She was weightless, except she could feel arms beneath her, her limp body jostling. Her skin tingled, the pleasurable sensation managing to penetrate the thick fog of her mind and the chilly numbness of her skin. Pain laced through her shoulder again, distant and faint. Then light flared against her eyelids, as bright as a sun.

Startled, she managed to open her eyes and found Solas staring down at her, his brow knit and his eyes glowing a deep, iridescent green. Something burned inside her, hot and sharp and obliterating. She gnashed her teeth at the sudden, intense sensation after having slipped into numbness. The pain swelled until her mind shied from it, fracturing.

Darkness fell over her.

* * *

 

Solas had Fade stepped up the short ruined stairs from a black hallway just behind Mathrel and immediately heard the shrill shouts of people in panic. Lunging past Mathrel, he Fade stepped forward into the forest, seeing the dim green-white glow of veilfire ahead. As he rounded an enormous tree, Solas saw Dorian, Abelas, Mahanon, Lyris, and half a dozen others lingering around a central figure—Ellana—on her knees. A Fade rift twined in the air behind them but there was no sign of demons.

Horror clutched at his heart, making the organ feel as though it was about to pop out of his chest. He surfed ahead only to pop out just shy of them by about fifty meters as his mana core fluctuated so wildly he stumbled, gasping. For a moment he stood dazed, his skin bathed in sweat as he saw the blood all over Ellana's chin and neck, an arrow sticking out of her left shoulder. Then something swelled inside him, thunder roared in his ears and he found himself breathing in huge lung-fulls of air though he shouldn't have been winded at all. His skin flushed with tingling, the teasing caress of magic.

Of the Fade.

He heard Mathrel pop out of Fade step just behind him, gasping with the same shock to his system. "Fenedhis," the warrior said, groaning as if with both pain and pleasure.

A sizzling sound erupted from the hidden pocket in his wolf headdress. With a jolt he recalled the foci and immediately passed a blue-glowing palm over his head, deactivating the ward that kept the headdress on him. Tearing it off, he thrust it toward Mathrel without a word and Fade stepped again to close the remaining distance between himself and where Ellana was bleeding out—dying despite the efforts of everyone around her.

He staggered again just a few meters from her, as though he'd passed some invisible barrier. His core shrank, making him gasp at the suddenness of the change, but he shook it off and sprinted the remaining distance.

"Release her," he growled, the words barely coherent. Mahanon and Lyris stumbled backward from him and in the greenish light Solas saw the blood spatter coating Mahanon's face and clothing. With his stomach clenching and bile rising in his throat, Solas grabbed at Ellana's shoulders and then her legs. Abelas and Dorian let him take her, their eyes following him with something desperate and grim.

He Fade stepped back to the spot where he'd felt the Fade and this time didn't react as he felt the explosion of power in his mana core and the warm caress of the Fade returning to him, singing its joyful song in his blood in full force. Dropping to his knees, Solas kept her head elevated, trying not to see the way her body flopped, limp and lifeless. Her skin had gone ashen gray—the pallor of a corpse.

With his free hand Solas clasped his hand around the arrow shaft and _willed_ it away. The arrow dissolved into Fade ether, green ribbons that he wafted away. Then, palm open, he placed his hand to her wound, grimacing at the slickness of her blood. Drawing on that now massive mana reserve, Solas cast the most powerful healing spell he knew. His hand glowed brilliantly, his eyes burning in their sockets as he shaped his mana into spirit energy and channeled all of it into Ellana.

She made a wet noise, inhaling, and her eyes fluttered open. For a heartbeat she stared up into his face and Solas saw recognition and awareness swimming in her expression along with the pain. Then her eyes rolled backwards and her eyelids slammed shut again. Her head lolled, limp and lifeless—yet Solas could still feel her spirit present in her body. Magic sang through her, twining through every part of her. Solas maintained the spell in silence, concentrating wholly on keeping her alive until the magic could penetrate deep into her flesh and mend it.

Finally he sensed something seem to snap back into place and the spell cut off, ceasing as though it'd sensed it was no longer needed. Solas let his head droop forward, his shoulders heaving and his head reeling as more from emotion than from mana expenditure. Shifting her gently in his arms, Solas cradled her against his chest and rose to his feet.

Mathrel stood in front of him, a tight, nervous smile on his lips. He held the wolf headdress clutched behind his back, as though hiding it—which wasn't far from the truth as he no doubt could sense the foci too and hoped to use his own body to shield Ellana from it. "She lives?" he asked.

"She lives," he confirmed, but the words emerged in a growl as shock wore off, replaced by the all-consuming flame of rage. Pivoting, he glowered at the others where they stood, staring and taut with fear and grief. He felt the roiling, seething mass of his core, alive and as massive as a dragon, tensing as it railed against his control, demanding blood.

He wanted to turn them to stone and then to shatter those statues and grind them into dust beneath his heels. He wanted to immolate them all in a flash fire so massive and so intense it'd destroy miles of the forest with it. He wanted to cast a storm of spirit energy that'd linger over them like a suffocating blanket, torturing them with pain until they died in agony. He wanted to command the earth itself to swallow them whole, to crush them in its black depths. He wanted to tear them apart with lightning, to splatter their entrails over the grass and ferns.

If he'd been even a minute later, Ellana would have died. Even with the Fade restored where he now stood it was doubtful any of the mages here would possess the knowledge or mana reserves to have saved her.

He drew in a quavering breath, quashing the fury inside and spoke instead in a deadly quiet. "Please explain to me how this happened."

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

Cole turned his head to look at Solas. "He doesn't like me. Should I make him forget again?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Mahanon muttered with a smirk.

"Leave them be, Cole," Solas admonished gently. To Mahanon he said, "The People must learn not to fear spirits. Most are harmless and those that are not are usually simple enough to—"

"Maker's breath," Dorian interrupted him, looking ashen with cold as he huddled in front of the tent he'd shared with Iron Bull. "If I hear one more word about _spirits_ that _isn't_ actually referencing an intoxicating beverage, I may just vomit."

Shooting the Tevinter a venomous glare, Solas said, deliberately, "Spirits."


	27. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ellana reconcile. Solas broods about this new plan for only partial restoration of the Fade.

"I did it," Sera's voice rang out in the dark clearing, choked and thick. She stood to the far right of the group beside Rainier and Iron Bull, her arms wrapped around herself and her shoulders hunching. "I don't even know what frigging happened. Just came running in, saw the rift and demons and shite…" She broke off, suddenly sobbing.

"I was with her," Mahanon said, rising to his feet. Ellana's blood still coated his face and hands. His skin was pale and ashen, his voice trembling. "The archer, I mean."

"Sera," Solas said, supplying her name, cold and deadpan.

Mahanon nodded. "When we got to where you're standing it was…" He shut his eyes, shaking his head.

"It was the Fade," Dorian finished. "Sera must've been so shocked she released an arrow without aiming properly." When Solas looked to the Tevinter all he saw were the streaks of red on the other man's hands. Rage twisted, sparking inside him.

"Is she alright?" Sera asked, brow knit and tears streaming from her eyes. "Please say you fixed it." She shook her head, blond hair flicking with the sharp movement. "Swear I'll never pie you or call you names. Never again—just save her!"

"I have," Solas answered, still somber and quiet.

Sera's shoulders slumped, shaking as she let out another sob. "Sweet Andraste!" She covered her mouth with one hand. "Thank you."

Solas knew she wasn't thanking _him_ but rather her burnt, falsely-divine prophet of the Maker. _More false gods,_ he thought, finding his grip on Ellana's body tightening with outrage. As much as he wanted to slaughter everyone who'd let Ellana come to this, Solas focused his wrath on the sentinels. They were the real ones at fault while the rest were mere pawns on the chessboard. The puppet master was Mythal, yet another figure made falsely divine.

Then, abruptly, Solas heard a crackling sound and felt the flush of familiar magic wash over him from the Anchor as it came to life, glowing green where Ellana's hand rested against her abdomen. He stared down at it for a moment, uncomprehending, before she gasped, eyes springing wide. She curled against his chest, crying out through gritted teeth as she cradled her left palm. Greenish energy crawled up her arm, sizzling and arcing. To Solas it was little more than a prickle or tingle, but to Ellana it'd be agony.

Jerking his head to Mathrel, he saw a yellow glow and heard the same sizzling as the foci and the Anchor reacted to one another. The warrior caught on at once and Fade stepped backward, toward the ruins, but only a few meters away he staggered, popping out of it. The wolf headdress swung like a pendulum in his arms, weighed down by the foci still crackling in the hidden inner pocket.

"Return it to Zevanni," Solas shouted at him, struggling to keep Ellana still as she continued to writhe in his arms. Recovering after zipping so fast from the Fade, Mathrel Fade stepped again, disappearing around the massive bulk of the tree. As soon as he was out of sight Solas dropped to his knees, using one arm to support Ellana and cradle her close while his free hand gripped her left one.

"Breathe, vhenan," he whispered to her and closed his eyes, squeezing her hand and pulling the Anchor's magic into himself. It was hot and pulsing, powerful and setting his skin tingling with a pleasurable sensation. She cried out, whimpering a moment and then went limp, shaking as the magic left the Anchor. _Calm,_ Solas commanded it, caressing up and down her left forearm. _Wait._

Her breath fanned against his neck, fast but steady. "Thank you."

Without opening his eyes, Solas cupped her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. Breathing together in silence, he shared her air and let the returning warmth of her skin calm the seething rage still boiling inside him. She lived. She was whole. That was all that mattered.

And he was never letting her out of his sight again. Ever.

When she let out a little sigh and shifted, squirming against his hold, Solas refused to release her for several heartbeats, unwilling to break the connection and let the concerns of the world rush back in. But then she said, "I need to pee, Solas. You have to let me go or I'm afraid I'll wet myself."

Reluctantly, Solas pulled away from her, pausing to wipe at the blood caking her chin with a frown. "Can you walk, vhenan? Do you remember what happened?"

"It's…a bit hazy," she admitted with a scowl. She wiped at her own chin and grimaced when her fingers came away flecked with half-dried red-brown blood. "The demon attacked me, I think."

Solas glared over Ellana's shoulder in Sera's direction, finding the rogue still shaking with half-muffled sobs as Rainier and Iron Bull comforted her. They were far enough away they probably couldn't hear. Still, though Solas felt his skin flush hot with lingering rage, he didn't correct Ellana, choosing instead to focus on letting her relieve herself.

Shifting, he lowered her legs and steadied her shoulders, gentle and slow. Her legs trembled beneath her but held, though they visibly wobbled at the knee. Wrapping her right hand over his shoulders and winding an arm about her waist, Solas started walking her toward a small hill in the distance to get some space and privacy from the others.

"There's a spring nearby," Mahanon called to him and started walking in their direction. "I can guide you to—"

"That will not be necessary," Solas said. He would find it on his own.

After only a few steps he noted a small rune, gleaming green on a nearby stone. As he and Ellana passed it the Veil slammed into him like a meteor. He gasped and his next step faltered though he remained upright and with Ellana still secure at his side. As his core contracted and the comforting caress of his magic was sapped away, Solas' temple tightened and his head drooped.

 _Back to being Tranquil,_ he thought.

As he and Ellana slowly made their way up the small hill, Solas heard Abelas issue orders to his sentinels to make camp within _the rune circles._ He twisted his head at the neck, glaring down at the group of elves, humans—and the lone Tal Vashoth. A Fade rift still glimmered, as green and bright as an emerald. Solas recalled the rune, placing it in his memory as one used for joining different locations. The knowledge clicked into place and at last he realized what they'd been doing here. Mythal and the sentinels needed Ellana to tear open rifts and enter the Fade, then charge the runes in both the physical and spiritual realms. It was clever, but already they must've killed dozens of spirits by opening the rifts and Solas' heart twisted at the thought that Mythal, the sentinels, and Ellana would callously sacrifice the beings of the Fade in favor of the People and the physical realm.

But then again his own plans were little better.

At the nearest brush out of sight of the others, Ellana relieved herself, offering no fuss as Solas helped her shed clothing to do so. She was weak and coated in her own blood and Solas had to keep tamping down his own fear and anger at the ongoing reminder of how close she'd come to dying. They didn't speak as Solas took her further into the forest, following the distant babbling of the spring Mahanon had mentioned. Night insects sang, still active in this warmer climate despite the fact that winter had set in fully around most of Thedas.

When they found the little brook Solas knelt with Ellana and helped scrub off her chin, then cupped water for her to drink in one hand. She sipped once before pushing his hand away. "I can manage," she murmured, stubborn as ever. Solas waited at her side, watching as she tried to do it herself, but it ended in failure as she hissed with pain and gripped her shoulder.

Wordlessly, Solas returned to helping her drink, patient and slow. Eventually she seemed to give in, gripping his wrist with her good arm and pressing her lips to his hand with each thirsty sip. She wobbled a little, clearly weak when she leaned forward, so Solas edged closer and laid his free hand on her good shoulder, helping steady her. Her eyelids closed with enjoyment as she drank. After several mouthfuls she began shivering from the cold water and Solas paused, unclasping the fur he wore wrapped over one shoulder and laying it over her.

She clucked her tongue but accepted the fur. "Thank you," she said and let out a weak laugh. "But I'm still upset with you." Her teeth chattered a second before she clamped her jaw shut.

"For leaving without you," Solas said with a nod. "Ir abelas, vhenan. I should have told you, but I could not risk taking you to fight the Forgotten Ones. We lost dozens as it was. If I had been distracted—"

"No," she interrupted him with a frown. "You were right. I was being stubborn. It was too dangerous for me to go. I just worried for you. But…" Blinking at him, Ellana's expression warped as if with pain. "That's not what I meant." She sucked in a trembling, wet breath. "You _lied_ to me."

The warm press of love for her had risen into his throat but now he swallowed, repressing it and shooting her a wary, guarded look. His heart pummeled against his breastbone, hissing in his ears. He stayed silent, unsure what she meant and hoping she would elaborate. Was it something about Tevinter? The food raids? The foci? His thoughts spun as he realized he couldn't recall any longer through the stress of this extremely long day exactly _what_ lie or half-truth she might be referencing. He'd not lied to her outright, just withheld plans and details to protect her. The biggest outright lie he could remember was—

 _Fenedhis,_ he thought and his stomach clenched as if he might vomit. If it was Corypheus and the orb she'd somehow learned of then she had every reason to be angry.

And, despite the darkness and the calming, gentle song of the water, Ellana was too clever not to read the truth in his face now. Her eyes narrowed, bright with moisture beading at the edges—tears of anger. "You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? You've told me too many lies to even guess which one I mean."

He closed his eyes, shoulders sagging and head drooping. "Vhenan," he whispered, the weight of his wrongdoings crushing him. "Please. It has been an exceptionally long day…"

Clutching the pelt tighter, Ellana shot upright, trying to walk away from him, but she staggered. Solas rushed to support her, gripping her by the biceps. She tried to struggle and then let out a choked cry of frustration. "Why am I so weak?"

"You nearly died," Solas told her, straining to force the words out.

"I did…?" she said, looking at him, wide eyes still glimmering with her angry tears.

Solas nodded. "Even I would not have been able to save you if not for the restored Fade." Hesitating, he cleared his throat, struggling to keep his voice even, rather than trembling with the horror and despair still rippling through him. "Perhaps we might save any discussions until you are better recovered?"

"All right," she agreed and sighed, slouching against him.

The nearness of her—alive when he had almost lost her—sent his heart racing, his stomach flip-flopping. The relief and love inside him burned away everything else and he felt his pulse quicken, hot with desire despite the inappropriateness of the timing. He quashed the reaction, though he did allow himself to lean his head against her temple, to smell her sweat and the underlying uniqueness of her fragrance. Then, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he whispered, "Is the child well? Has it moved? Are you in any pain?"

"We're both well," she said softly. "And he never stops moving." She grasped his hand and guided it over her belly. Concentrating, Solas closed his eyes and felt the ghosting bump against his fingers. A warm shiver passed through him, his skin tingling with awe as it always did when he felt their child.

"Oh," he said, breathing the word in a little exhale as he nuzzled her ear. "Vhenan." His eyes stung, pressurized by the abrupt onset the powerful emotions rising within. Pulling her close, he embraced her. "I could not bear to lose you. Either of you."

"Then stop lying to me," she whispered with a little choking noise in the back of her throat. "Stop pushing me away. Let me be your partner. Let me help you. Give Mythal's plan a chance to work."

A wave of cold passed through him at Mythal's name, but Solas pushed it aside. After seeing her covered in blood, her skin gray like ash, and her body limp, lifeless, and cold in his arms…how could he not promise her anything she wished?

"Ma nuvenin," he said and gently turned her face toward his, kissing her tenderly despite the fire burning inside him. But his lips had barely met hers when she turned her head slightly, breaking the kiss.

"You said the same thing before," she murmured, breath puffing on his skin. "And then you lied to me." She ducked her head, tucking herself against his chest.

He let out a long sigh. Now he knew with certainty what she'd meant. With his hands still wrapped around her, idly caressing, Solas said, "You have every right to be angry with me, but I hope you can understand that I lied out of shame. The choices I made in the first year after I woke were…questionable. I did not care for this world or the people inhabiting it. I was wrong. And when I saw your anger at learning my foci caused such distress…I was a fool. A coward. I lied because I wanted to be a better man than I was. I didn't want you to see what a monster I had become."

He combed his fingers through her hair, traced the bumps of her neck vertebrae. "It was the same with the chaos in Tevinter and the raids for food. I did not tell you because I knew you would disapprove, and I had no choice."

"There is always choice," she said and the chilly words sent a shudder through him.

"Sometimes the only choice is between two great evils," Solas muttered, scowling at the bitterness he heard in his tone. "Such was the choice when I created the Veil." Chuckling cynically, he pulled back from her, holding her by the shoulders as he stared into her face, wiling her to understand. "It was the same for you at Adamant, choosing between Stroud and Hawke. There was no easy, clearly moral choice."

She closed her eyes, her mouth working in a frown. "Just promise me that you'll give Mythal's plan a chance." She gripped his left hand with her right one while the other remained clutched at the pelt he'd put over her. "We need your expertise to save the spirits, bring them through the rune barrier unharmed. Please."

Hearing her mention the spirits, Solas cocked his head, immediately intrigued despite himself. He wanted to ask about it but the exhaustion in her frame and in her face made him push aside his curiosity. It could wait until morning. "Very well, vhenan. I will help as I can." After a pause he clenched his jaw. "But I cannot promise I will abandon my other plans."

She nodded, her eyes searching over him as a wan smile spread over her lips. "It's a start, Solas." She squeezed his hand where she still gripped it with her own. "Thank you."

* * *

 

The Fade tugged on him that night with nightmares that resisted his efforts to dispel them. It was the strength of his own emotions fighting him in the Fade as he found himself reliving the moment when he'd seen Ellana covered in blood and slumped over, already half-dead. Solas always willed the image away, focusing on locating Zevanni and Mathrel's dreams instead. Despite everything that'd happened, he still had a rebellion to run, after all.

In the morning, waking before Ellana, he found frost ringing around the rune circles when he crawled from their tent. Beyond the rune circles the frost was heavy, coloring the ample underbrush with bright white that glittered in the low slant of morning sunlight through the trees. Rainier, Iron Bull, Dorian and Sera had set up tents just outside the rune circles, determined to remain outside of the Fade after what had happened the previous night. Solas imagined them shivering in their tents, their breath fogging on the air inside. He and the others who'd camped inside the runes, meanwhile, had been kept warm by the Fade—by Solas' will and experience as a Dreamer.

The sky overhead was brilliant, crystalline with shades of yellow, orange, pink, and the occasional glint of green. With the addition of the sunlight proper it had a cheery appearance, stirring something warm and nostalgic inside his chest that was both pleasure and pain. He could see a few rocks hovering overhead, barren and lifeless from their recent time locked away in the Fade, but green ether swirled around them, pleading for him to shape it. But when he turned to look in a different direction he saw the putrid spires of the Black City and scowled.

The magic of the Veil kept the Evanuris slumbering in their prison. The rune circles were tiny but stable breaches in that and likely posed no threat to the integrity of the Veil. The Evanuris wouldn't awaken as the Veil remained in place, but the Black City was more than just an eyesore where it hovered in the sky—it'd be a temptation. Anyone with enough talent and spell crafting knowledge could now find a way to access it. Even the less magically talented could access it with a tall enough tower. The Black City had been locked away and inaccessible in dreams, but when exposed to the ingenuity and permanence of the physical world…

Someone would reach it. In time.

Yet another problem for this bizarre plan.

From the crackling campfire in the center of the circle, Solas heard Mahanon's voice say, "I think it's uglier seeing it in the sunlight, away from dreams." The First of clan Lavellan stood beside the fire, his staff secured to his back and his head tilted up to stare through the small gaps in the trees at the Black City hovering far above.

Two Dalish men lingered nearby. Solas recognized them both but only recalled the younger of the two by name: Lerand, Ellana's former lover and…betrothed? He didn't know. Appraising the warriors with his quick scrutiny, Solas noted they both held their hands tucked beneath their armpits, as if cold despite the close proximity of the fire and the pleasant temperature of the rune circle thanks to Solas' influence. Abelas and Dorian had warned all the non-mage elves to be very cautious while they were inside the circle, lest they accidentally cast their newfound magic.

It was Lerand's companion who asked, "Was it ever golden as the Chant says?"

"Yes," Solas answered and felt their eyes fall on him with reverence. "Once."

"And the Tevinter magisters defiled it?" Mahanon asked. "Turned it black?"

Solas shifted from one foot to the other and then nodded. "After a fashion." A half-truth, his standard evasive answer. What did it matter if the magisters had been misled and used?

"How did they get to it?" Lerand asked, shaking his head with a look of consternation. He chuckled and gestured at the sky with one hand. "I mean, it's _really_ high up there. Can a dragon even fly that high?"

"Yes," Solas replied. "They can." He'd seen high dragons roost on it before the Veil…when the city had been golden. Pushing those thoughts aside, Solas cleared his throat and addressed the warriors. "You will need to be tutored in magic. Mahanon, would you take them on as students?"

Mahanon's hazel eyes widened and he seemed to start, as if just realizing who he'd been speaking with. "Of course, hahren." Licking his lips, he hurriedly added, "I hope we did not offend you by aiding the sentinel—Arina. She told us you had imprisoned Lana and that we must save her…" He broke off as Solas couldn't help the snarl that curled over his lips. "Forgive me. I fear we've heard too many tales of the Dread Wolf being a troublemaker and traitor. We were…manipulated. You saved my sister's life when none of us could. We were wrong to doubt you." Here he shot Lerand a meaningful look that made Solas suspect Lerand was the driving force behind their actions.

The warriors both seemed to cringe under the weight of their First's words, staring gloomily into the fire. The Dalish warrior whose name Solas couldn't recall said, "Our actions were done in haste and without proper understanding. We knew only that we were told we could not see Lana."

Solas arched an eyebrow in silent question.

"We tried to visit her," Lerand explained quickly with a sheepish glance that bordered on fear. "But that guy, Mackerel? Mattel…?"

"Mathrel," Solas supplied.

Lerand cringed. "Yeah, him. He told us in no uncertain terms to buzz off."

"And we could not find you, hahren," Mahanon added with an apologetic shrug. "I could not help but worry for her—but we were wrong. Arina should not have been able to mislead us to easily."

Had they really needed to see Solas save Ellana's life to believe he cared for her genuinely? Did they believe Solas feigned everything while visiting clan Lavellan? That he had a spell over Ellana and had been lying with her against her will, even getting a child on her for the sake of a ruse? The thought made his stomach acids curdle with revulsion while his skin bristled with indignant outrage.

Yet, despite the heat of anger burning just beneath the surface, Solas kept his expression neutral, reminding himself that these three men had had to fight against a lifetime of conditioning against Fen'Harel. And it was not as if they'd dragged Ellana away against her will.

Before the silence could grow unwieldy in its heavy awkwardness, Solas said, "You are not the only ones manipulated by the sentinels and their false goddess." Hesitating a moment to avert his gaze, glaring to the second circle where Abelas and the sentinels had camped, Solas sighed. "I cannot say I approve of this current plan of action, but…it is what Ellana wants." Then, finding a few bubbles of amusement within, he turned back to the Dalish men with a smile. "And I cannot deny what a relief it is to feel the Fade properly once more."

Mahanon motioned to the dormant third rift to the north of the first circle, deeper into the woods and away from the ruins. "From what I can understand of Ellana's plan, she'll need to open hundreds of those things and fight demons at every one of them." He shook his head, frowning. "All so she can walk in the raw Fade and draw the rune circles there. But I don't understand why she can't just do a bunch of circles at once."

Now Solas stared at the rift, admiring the glittery green of it. "You have not seen the raw Fade. The sleeping minds of most dreamers do not see it, and often forget it if they do, but it is frequently impassable. Fade stone creates narrow paths and there are vast stretches of swamp-like terrain Ellana would find it impossible to rune. Wandering through such a place physically could lead to her becoming lost or injured. There is always the risk of losing track of the rift and becoming trapped in the Fade permanently."

"So it's hopeless?" Lerand asked, brown eyes crinkled with sadness.

The hot, eager press of his mana ballooned in his chest, caressing and encouraging. Ellana had asked him to help find runes to allow spirits into their restored circles, but she didn't realize that the task Mythal had set her on was very likely impossible without himself. He chuckled, suddenly grinning as he shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest. _Well played, Mythal._

"What's funny?" Lerand asked, alarm coloring his voice.

"Apologies," he answered without looking at the young man. "I was merely thinking that it would indeed prove a hopeless task…without the help of a Dreamer, such as myself." Suddenly his heart was galloping in his chest, eagerness piercing him. He swallowed the warm swelling of it inside his throat.

Cole's familiar voice spoke from near the tent Solas stood beside, drawing the Dalish men's startled stares. "Feel it everywhere, wrapped over me like a warm blanket. Skin tingling, so _alive._ The song is in my blood again. Hope."

"Whoa," Lerand said, eyes bugging out. "What in the great beyond is that?"

Mahanon narrowed his eyes. "A spirit."

The other Dalish warrior winced at the First's comment. "Are you sure?"

"He is Cole," Solas said calmly. "And yes, he is a spirit. A friendly one."

"I'm here to help," Cole told them with a dip of his head beneath the broad brim of his hat. "I like helping."

"I saw you last night," Mahanon said with a frown. "At least…I think I did."

"Yes," Cole said with another nod. "I made you forget me. All of you."

"Hey," the other Dalish warrior grumbled. "Stay out of my head. _Creators._ " He tapped on Lerand's shoulder. "We should be out hunting. I'd bet this place is crawling with august ram."

Lerand shrugged, following the other man away from the fire and out of the rune circle. Both of them paused for a moment as they passed over the threshold, shuddering as the influence of the Fade left them, but then they jogged off in the confident, stealthy way of all Dalish hunters who'd never known magic. Their wrapped feet crunched over the white frost and scattered dead leaves of the forest floor as they passed the two tents where Iron Bull, Dorian, Sera, and Rainier had started emerging.

Cole turned his head to look at Solas. "He doesn't like me. Should I make him forget again?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Mahanon muttered with a smirk.

"Leave them be, Cole," Solas admonished gently. To Mahanon he said, "The People must learn not to fear spirits. Most are harmless and those that are not are usually simple enough to—"

"Maker's breath," Dorian interrupted him, looking ashen with cold as he huddled in front of the tent he'd shared with Iron Bull. "If I hear one more word about _spirits_ that _isn't_ actually referencing an intoxicating beverage, I may just vomit."

Shooting the Tevinter a venomous glare, Solas said, deliberately, "Spirits."

"I'd quite like something to drink, yes," Dorian said with a grin as he shuffled his feet in place, trying to warm up. "It'd certainly help with this damned chill."

"Anger, hard and broiling," Cole said. "His voice pulling me from sleep. Red for blood. The shadow that struck from behind, lean body and sharp blade. He was inside my _home."_

Dorian scowled. "I really hate it when you do that."

"Would it help if I made you forget?" Cole asked cheerily.

"No," Dorian grumbled with a sniff as he turned his wrathful stare back on Solas. "I'm glad at least to see you've not killed anyone yet. Or dragged Ellana back through the eluvian."

Bristling, Solas sneered at him. "I am not the bloodthirsty beast you believe me to be. Nor am I a callous fool." Jerking a hand toward the ruins, he explained, "It will take days before the eluvians will be safe for Ellana to pass. I will not endanger her and I do not seek to control her."

The Tevinter mage scoffed. "Is that so? Funny, I seem to recall you hauled her away from speaking with us just yesterday and one of Abelas' rogues said you'd locked her up. But I suppose that was all lies, wasn't it? You'd never do something despicable like locking her away now, would you? Just as I suppose you had nothing to do with all the chaos and bloodshed tearing apart the Imperium. Isn't that right?" he asked and then finished with a snarl. _"Fen'Harel."_

Solas stared at him, nonplussed externally though his skin flushed with heat. Deciding his best course of action was to ignore the other man, Solas pivoted to face the fire and strode toward it. With Dorian still glowering at him from outside the circle, Solas squatted beside the fire, ignoring the way Mahanon tensed beside him. He found the large black pot of water the sentinels or the Dalish men had no doubt collected from the spring. It was piping hot but half-empty, partly consumed as Mahanon and the other two had likely made tea. Solas focused on it for a moment and waved a glowing hand over the pot. Green ether rose from around the circle, flowing upward and then into the pot where it transformed into water and dripped with a tinkling sound, rapidly replenishing the pot.

Mahanon gasped. "Fenedhis! Did you just conjure water?"

Dorian made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, then rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we're all _very_ impressed."

"You are?" asked Cole innocently.

"No," Dorian snapped. "Haven't I tried to explain sarcasm to you before? Clearly you weren't listening." With another groan of irritation, the Tevinter turned his back on them and started for the trees, likely to answer the call of nature.

Ignoring Dorian's interruption, Solas said, "Not truly. I merely shaped the ether of the Fade."

Mahanon shook his head and laughed as he repeated, "Merely." Grinning, he asked, "I don't suppose you could teach me?"

"That would depend on how strong your talent is now that you are fully connected to the Fade," Solas answered placidly and then smiled. "But I would be happy to teach you."

He felt a prickling over the back of his neck and immediately sensed the Anchor, the power of its magic acting as a tether joining him to Ellana. He could feel it even now while awake with the Fade present. Rising to his full height he smiled as he saw Ellana emerge from their tent, one hand on her head. Concern immediately snapped his muscles taut. He strode over to her, gently gripping her shoulders. "How are you feeling, vhenan?"

"Hungry," she said, brow furrowing. "And…I had strange dreams."

"More vivid than usual, I expect," Solas said, unable to stop himself from grinning. He had not yet seen how her magic manifested, but like all the People she would possess the gift of it now. The thought of sharing his knowledge with her only broadened his grin. He had to resist the urge to draw her into an embrace.

"You could say that," she said, still making a perturbed face.

Recalling his own tendency toward nightmares—and the reason behind them—Solas sobered, the smile falling from his lips. He caressed up and down her shoulders, from bicep to elbow, deliberately soft on her left side where it'd been pierced by the arrow. "Ir abelas, vhenan. The nightmares will be more powerful as well." He dug at her left shoulder, his touch gentle as he searched for the wound to see how well it'd closed under his healing spell and with the added help of a night spent in the strengthening power of the Fade.

Ellana let out a little sigh, her hands moving to intercept his. "I already looked. It's closed fine, just a little tender still." As Solas halted his ministrations, meeting her green eyed gaze, he saw something more than physical pain there. "I wasn't attacked by the terror demon, was I?" she asked quietly.

"No," Solas said, clenching his jaw. "You were not."

"I'll have to talk to Sera," she murmured, her eyes glazing over, haunted. "It wasn't her fault."

"Sweat beading on her brow," Cole said from just behind Ellana, his voice going flat and dull. "Glinting orange in the firelight. Blue eyes squeezed shut. The sharp smell of salt and the sweetness of her milk."

A blush spread over Ellana's cheeks as she pulled back slightly from Solas and looked at Mahanon. "Sorry. I had a lot of dreams last night." She chuckled. "One of them was about Rinaya—"

"Giving birth to Deya?" Mahanon finished for her. Something sounded choked in his voice, thick with shock. Solas glanced at him, gaze searching over the other, younger man. "That was my dream, Lana. More a memory, actually."

Ellana cocked her head to one side. "I shared your dream?" Her eyes flew to Solas and smirked. "I'd be surprised if it hadn't happened before."

Solas stared at her, struggling to suppress the sudden breathless hush that'd smothered him and set his heart thumping like a fist against his breastbone. He'd believed the Anchor had been what allowed her to dream lucidly, to find him in the Fade and let _him_ share his dream with _her_. But perhaps it'd been more than that all along.

Apparently thinking along the same lines, Ellana raised her left hand and flexed it. "The Anchor strikes again, I guess."

Solas licked his lips and shook his head once in the negative. "Possibly not." He chuckled, grabbing her hand on impulse and feeling over the line in her palm, sensing the magic beneath as a way to distract himself from the way excitement lurched inside him. Warmth uncoiled in his belly though he tried to stifle it as he met her questioning gaze. "You could be a latent Dreamer, only discovering the talent now that you are connected to the Fade as our people were truly meant to."

Her eyes rounded, stunned. "I could shape the Fade? The way you do?"

"Not to the same extent," he said, smiling softly. "But with practice, I suspect so, yes. You would be able to dispel nightmares and touch others' dreams." His smile widened into a grin. "I would be happy to teach you, vhenan." The tone in his voice dropped into a sensual purr before he could stop it but he resisted the desire to frown in reaction. The last thing he wanted was to make her doubt the sincerity of his offer.

"Of course," she agreed, her smile dazzling him and drawing his eyes to her lips. The urge to kiss her nearly overcame him and he'd leaned forward almost close enough for their noses to touch when Mahanon cleared his throat. Solas froze and then, swallowing, withdrew from her, quashing the heat churning through him as it tried to spread to his loins.

"Hahren, I don't suppose you can be sure _I'm_ not a Dreamer too?" Mahanon asked, smirking a moment before he spoke to Ellana. "I _saw_ you in my dream, Lana. And I changed it into memory. It's usually a nightmare, but I'd had more than enough of those, but I was surprised I managed to change it last night."

As much as he didn't care to imagine teaching Mahanon at the same time as Ellana, Solas couldn't find a reason to reject him as a student. He'd just have to juggle students, making sure to schedule plenty of alone time for himself and Ellana. Their dreams together always wound up with an erotic undertone, after all, making Mahanon's potential presence awkward.

With a nod and a smile, he said, "I would not be surprised if you did not have a capacity for it as well, considering you can cast despite the Veil."

Mahanon clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. "Excellent!" He dipped his head in an exaggerated nod bordering on a small bow. "Ma serannas, hahren."

Movement across the camp drew Solas' gaze. All amusement fled as he saw Abelas striding toward the first circle, making his way through the tents with his back straight and his shoulders squared. His golden eyes were narrow and his lips pinched thin. Magic churned and boiled inside him, reacting to the sudden rage that exploded in his chest. Solas quashed it with a huff.

"Lessons will have to wait," he murmured, frowning. "I suspect the time has come for us to go to work expanding these rune circles." 

* * *

 

**Next Chapter**

She rotated her head slowly to meet his stare, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to share power?" she asked. "I'm not inquisitor." Despite the slight terseness of her words Solas saw only the smoldering look and the flush on her cheeks.

"This is your plan," Solas reminded her, gently. "I am Solas here. Not Fen'Harel."

She frowned then and his heart seemed to fall into his guts. "You're always Solas. _And_ Fen'Harel."


	28. Magic Lessons with Handsy Hahren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and Solas continue expanding the restored Fade in the Dales. Newly minted elven mages receive lessons from their more experienced counterparts.

In the raw Fade the rune circles that'd been completed became shadowy barriers, impossible to enter for spirits, demons, or physical beings like Solas, Ellana, and the half dozen others who'd stepped through the rift. As Abelas, Mahanon, and two other sentinels began drawing the runes for this third circle using their blood to tie it to the physical plane, Solas lingered near the shadow barriers, a mild frown over his face as he probed them with one palm and reached outward with his magic. The darkness was smooth, like river stones, and it glimmered a faint green-yellow when he stroked it.

"Is there a way to make it permeable?" Ellana asked quietly from behind him.

Solas didn't answer for several heartbeats as his mind swirled with the challenge. The runes stabilized the tiny breach in the Veil, preventing it from unraveling further. It was like another Veil in that respect, which was why it prevented passage to and from the raw Fade. However, this barrier was weaker than the Veil as well. Solas could feel it stretch and bend under his magical senses. A demon or spirit with enough willpower to cross the Veil would likely find this barrier no trouble at all, and the minds of sleeping mortals on the other side hadn't been affected.

Well, _his_ mind hadn't. It was possible the others inside the circles had been unable to cross into the raw Fade in their sleep as all mortals except dwarves did every night. With time and exploration Solas knew he'd ferret out that detail with the help of Ellana and possibly Mahanon as newly awakened low-level Dreamers. Could they pierce this barrier to access the dreams of those outside it, or was that denied to all but the most powerful Dreamers, such as himself?

"I suspect so," he answered Ellana without turning to look at her. "Perhaps with elements of a summoning circle we may allow spirits free and safe passage."

"Will you be able to try it with this circle?" she asked, a note of hope and eagerness in her voice that tugged his lips into a small smile. "We could try testing it with Cole, if he wants and if it'd be safe for him to try."

"I am sure Cole will be happy to test it for us." Adjusting his stance, Solas faced her, letting her see his smile. "And I will try to make this circle permeable, yes."

They stood in a marshy spot, littered with pockets of water made slimy with Fade ether, its raw potential a song in his ears, begging to be shaped. It tickled his exposed skin and reached into his mana core, caressing it with a teasing shadow of his full power. It was hard not to react with glee, just the way he had at Adamant, but as he surveyed the raw Fade around them, Solas saw several sentinels had already finished their runes, leaving them on sandbars and rocks or any other object they could move into place.

 _Primitive,_ he thought with a flash of irritation.

"I'd like to make a few additional alterations to your current method," Solas said, slipping into his old role of supplicant to the Inquisitor as he searched over her face for approval. He knew she must harbor lingering resentment and distrust after learning his full involvement with Corypheus and the explosion at the conclave. Or was it just that he'd lied to her about it? Regardless, he could be merely Solas for her and treat her as the leader here if it appeased her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"What you and the sentinels have done here, while impressive, is unsustainable for both yourselves and the beings of the Fade," he told her with a dip of his chin.

"How so?" she asked and he didn't miss the way her eyes narrowed with a flicker of doubt. It wasn't herself she doubted—it was him.

Restraining the desire to sigh, Solas motioned at the gray-green Fade stone to their far left. It rose in jagged peaks, gleaming with the slimy essence of the Fade itself, beckoning Solas like an old lover. His fingers tingled with his magic and willpower, but he held it in check. "This third circle of yours abuts the stone here. How will you connect another circle to it in that direction?"

Then, with his other hand, Solas indicated the marshy plain, extending out into mists that glimmered green. "The ether of the Fade can be as deep as oceans, and more expansive than the Waking Sea." He smirked at her. "Drawing your runes out there will prove most difficult, will it not?"

Ellana crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side, her expression both amused and irritated. "I seem to remember my Keeper calling you 'Roamer of the Beyond.' I'm going to be sorely disappointed if you don't have a solution handy."

"Well," Solas said, keeping his tone lighthearted, "I certainly cannot abide the thought of disappointing you or your Keeper, vhenan." Taking a step past her, Solas walked toward the nearest rune and the sentinel standing beside it. The sand and water of the Fade gripped his armored feet with moist sucking noises. Solas twisted at the waist after a few steps and extended his arm to aid Ellana as she followed. She didn't hesitate as she took his arm.

Together they walked to the sentinel—Solas recognized him as Zaron—who stood beside the sandbar where he'd used his own blood to draw out the rune. Now he tensed, eyeing Solas as a muscle feathered in his jaw. One hand, dripping blood, was clenched at his side, but the other closed into a fist as well when Solas neared.

"Fen'Harel," he muttered, cold and stoic.

Solas had avoided interacting with any of the sentinels, including and especially Abelas. Despite fantasizing about petrifying the other man, Solas had opted on restraint, knowing it'd please Ellana. Yet that didn't stop the rage from curdling the acid in his stomach and setting a blush of fury rising up from his neck. These traitors had abandoned his army at the worst possible moment, leaving them more vulnerable to the Forgotten Ones' wrath. Solas couldn't stop himself from wondering if they'd have lost fewer modern elves with the experience of the sentinels aiding them.

He'd have to find a way to exact punishment at some later point.

Ignoring the sentinel entirely, Solas said, "This is hardly acceptable." He relished the way Zaron bristled, shoulders squaring and hands fidgeting once before he stilled himself, remaining silent. Cutting a look to Ellana with one brow arched, Solas asked, "Would you allow me to improve it?"

Her lips quirked, caught between frowning and smiling with consternation. "Why are you asking me?"

Solas tugged at the wolf pelt secured over one shoulder, evading her gaze. "You are in charge here, are you not?"

"Solas," she said and he could hear the frown in her voice. "What are you implying?"

Lifting his eyes to meet hers, Solas feigned innocent ignorance. "Nothing, vhenan. I merely defer to your leadership. This is your plan and it is not without its merits—though there is also much left to be desired." He let the last word take on a more teasing lilt to try and defuse the suspicion and irritation he saw darkening her green eyes and tensing the line of her body. Then, determined to drive home his point, he cut a sidelong glare toward Zaron. "Unless, of course, you are unwittingly just another of Mythal's tools? Was I mistaken in calling this your plan? Or is it _her_ plan? Regardless, I do not wish to offend by altering—"

"Fenedhis, Solas," Ellana growled, curling her lip. "Enough already. I asked for your help as a partner. I'm not Inquisitor and this isn't the Inquisition."

"You did not answer my question," he pointed out with a slight, restrained frown.

She huffed, laying both hands over her belly. "This is _my_ plan as much as Mythal's, but I'm doing it because I feel it is right. For the People and for all of Thedas." The way her fingers splayed over her rounded abdomen drew Solas' attention. The hard, cold stubbornness in his core eased. Her deeper meaning lay unspoken between them—that the future she hoped to create with this plan was for saving _him_. Their child needed a father.

With a nod, Solas said, "Very well." Turning toward the sandbar where Zaron had painted the rune, he motioned at it, again holding back the squirming eagerness inside him to reshape it. "My suggestion is that we create a proper mounting for the rune." With one hand he made a grabbing motion in the air and felt the pleasurable flex of magic twist through him as his will and the ether of the Fade connected. The Fade bent to him, its ethereal caress as soft and familiar as any lover, and the sandbar rose waist high, green ether swirling into it from the marshy land around them.

Ellana gaped, inhaling sharply. Solas cut his eyes to her, fighting away the proud smirk that tried to steal over his lips. With but a thought, Solas changed the sandbar into tawny stone, but left the rune untouched on its flat top. Then, satisfied, he let his hand fall to his side. "Much better."

Zaron snorted but said nothing. Such simple and small reshaping of the Fade would never impress a survivor of Elvhenan. Solas ignored the sentinel as he turned and beckoned Ellana closer. "I believe you may activate it now."

Still appearing stunned by his easy alteration, Ellana stepped into position and raised her left hand. Green magic shot out, prickling Solas' skin with its familiar touch. The rune crackled as it activated, glowing. Solas added a rune of his own beside Zaron's, hoping it would make the circle permeable to spirits when the connection was made in the physical world.

With that done Solas escorted Ellana to the next spot and performed the same reshaping, creating a standing post for the rune. Soon they'd completed the circle and the sentinels and Mahanon lingered near the Fade rift where it still twined on itself, energies swirling. They expected to return to the physical realm and draw out the next set of joining runes there to finally complete the circle.

Laying a hand over Ellana's forearm once she'd activated the last rune, Solas said, "We should create and charge several more circles, as large as we can make them, while we are still here. That will ensure we spare more spirits and open fewer rifts."

With a nod, Ellana twisted to look out on the flat stretch of marshy lands and swirling ether that stretched to the horizon. "You can reshape all of this."

Edging closer to her, Solas knelt slightly to speak into her ear as if whispering a secret. "Just say the word," he murmured.

Part of him had always relished being under her command. The role reversal, with the corresponding weight of command removed from his shoulders, was…oddly erotic. He'd spent most of his life either alone and unknown, or empowered and worshipped—or reviled. His position had brought him plenty of lovers who fawned on him for his attention because they found his power attractive more than his person. Ellana had loved him as nothing but an outcast apostate. Perhaps that was why she'd become so important to him, an extension of himself and his spirit to the point that the thought of being without her caused unbearable pain.

She rotated her head slowly to meet his stare, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to share power?" she asked. "I'm not inquisitor." Despite the slight terseness of her words Solas saw only the smoldering look and the flush on her cheeks.

"This is your plan," Solas reminded her, gently. "I am Solas here. Not Fen'Harel."

She frowned then and his heart seemed to fall into his guts. "You're always Solas. _And_ Fen'Harel."

"And you will always be Inquisitor to many," Solas countered, withdrawing a step. He'd been holding her arm at the bicep, stroking the bare skin exposed at the inside of her elbow with one thumb, languishing in the silken smoothness. Aware of his own arousal at the prospect of showing her how much _she_ needed _him_ for this plan to work, Solas struggled to quash that pride.

He tucked his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders, determined to warn her away from Mythal again. "But you should be wary. You are a mere tool to Mythal. She has already set her plan in motion by luring you to do this, regardless of what I thought of it. What she neglected to tell you was that without my help her plan would not work. She is playing the Game and she has used you as her primary means to control _me._ "

Though her mouth worked into a frustrated frown, Solas saw she couldn't deny anything he'd said. She stared out at the marshes, at the seemingly endless expanse of Fade ether ocean, and she must see keenly now that she had no way to alter it without him. She sighed and muttered under her breath, "Always a pawn. Always the Game."

"You are no game to me, vhenan," Solas murmured, almost whispering.

She snorted. "And halla can fly."

Before he could reply, instinctively reaching out to reassure her with touch, Ellana whipped to face the sentinels and her brother, calling to them. "We're not going back yet," she said. "We're going to make more circles. Bigger ones. We'll count out the steps to make sure they match with the waking world."

They moved to obey without confusion and Solas saw Abelas shoot him a quick look of something like cold triumph. Rage erupted inside Solas' core, flushing his skin red until the tips of his ears burned. He cooled it by conjuring cold in one hand and then touching his own neck, making him shiver as the fury dissipated.

Ellana, ever sensitive to magic even before feeling the full connection of the Fade inside the rune circles, glanced to him with a furrowed brow. "Solas?"

Choosing not to answer her, Solas closed his eyes and raised both hands, reaching out as far as he could in every direction with his magic. He heard and sensed Ellana react, gasping as she felt the change in the air, charging it like lightning. The snap came inside him as the Fade responded to his will and locked onto his magic. _Flat,_ he commanded it. _Empty._ He imagined a dry meadow like the one clan Lavellan had been encamped on. _Dry_. A faint wave of dizziness suffused him, leaving him lightheaded as the Fade took his mana and the imagery. Air whipped around him and the light changed, becoming less the orange-brown of the raw fade and more the bright, clear sunshine of the wilds around Wycome.

When the connection severed with a pingback of prickling washing over his skin, Solas opened his eyes and let his hands fall to his sides. He and the others now stood on a flat expanse of golden grasses that wafted in the breeze and extended out as far as the eye could see. The sun warmed him from behind. Spirits had come out of the rocks and ether of the Fade and now floated in wispy shapes, perplexed or curious at the changed environment. Undoubtedly they'd soon read the expectations of the mortals who'd wandered into their ethereal plane and begin emulating their expectations by creating halla or fennec foxes or insects or aravels.

Ellana stood a few paces from him, her eyes round and stunned. "How long will it stay like this?" Ellana asked, barely breathing the question.

"Indefinitely," Solas answered. "Until I or another changes it. Sleepers will alter it over time with their influence. Nothing in the Fade is permanent."

"Except the sky and the Black City," she said, turning her head and jerking her chin upwards. Indeed, the sky remained unchanged, with swirling green clouds despite the warm light on their current spot, and rocks hung in the sky. And, of course, the Black City's spires remained visible and untouched by Solas' power. Unlike Ellana, Solas knew that was because it was heavily warded against reshaping by Dreamers—even those as powerful as himself.

Solas nodded. "Yes, except for that." As she returned her stare to him and cocked her head, considering him with an unreadable expression, Solas arched an eyebrow and asked, "Vhenan?"

Ellana motioned at the flowing grasses around them, grasping a few golden blades in her palms. "Could you have done this at Adamant?"

He dropped his gaze to the brown, dry earth at their feet as he shuffled his weight, abashed for a moment and hoping to hide it. Clearing his throat, he said, "I was not as recovered in those days."

She huffed. "That's not an answer, Solas."

Her admonishment made him grimace, like a boy caught by his parents misbehaving. He brushed off the mental image and forced himself to meet her gaze, clenching his jaw and tucking his hands behind his back to emulate the appearance of command even if he didn't quite feel it under the weight of her disappointment. "I could have shaped the Fade at Adamant, yes," he admitted. "But not to this extent. I _was_ weaker. I did not hide any of my talents early on. Gradually I did have to…curtail myself lest I reveal too much."

"You could have saved Stroud," she guessed, frowning. Her hands curled into fists at her side. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Solas scoffed, her anger fueling his. "I am not all-powerful, Ellana. The Nightmare at Adamant would have killed me with ease had it been given the chance. Even had I shaped the Fade I could not have saved Stroud. I cannot simply _will_ away the beings of the Fade."

Her eyes, narrowed and glinting dark with anger and suspicion, softened gradually. Slowly and with a sad sigh, she said, "I believe you."

"Ma serannas," he grumbled, unable to bite back his sarcasm. Of course, he didn't tell her that the Nightmare, knowing who he was, probably wouldn't have killed him but would instead have tried to cut a deal with him the same as it had Corypheus. Just as the Forgotten Ones, it's much stronger and more ancient brethren had done so long ago.

She winced, evading his angry stare before shaking her head, the line of her body hardening again. "No, I'm not going to be sorry for second guessing you," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her eyes squeezed shut, as if with pain. "You lied to me about the orb. You spent _years_ lying to me. I can't…" She broke off and covered her face with both hands, sucking in a trembling breath.

The sound of it cut into him as sharp as a knife. Solas closed the distance between them, laying a hand on her bicep. "I'm sorry, vhenan. I should have told you the truth long ago. Please—"

Shaking him off, Ellana backpedaled, stealing quick glimpses of him as she turned away. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her body language was tight, upset. "I appreciate your help with this, Solas," she said, cold and businesslike. "You're right that we can't do this without you, just as your help was invaluable with Corypheus."

 _A peace offering,_ he thought. Her last comment had been acknowledging that regardless of how he'd handled it, Solas had been loyal to her in stopping Corypheus. He watched, feeling cold inside as she stalked off through the grasses, heading to instruct the sentinels and Mahanon on where she wanted the runes placed. She had the gait and carriage of the Inquisitor again, proud and authoritative despite her rounded belly.

Determined to prove useful, Solas made his way around this new, even larger circle, creating elevated podiums for the runes the sentinels painted with their blood and adding marks of his own using ink created from the ether of the Fade itself. He worked in tandem with both the sentinels and Ellana, wordless and silent. They mapped out the positions of each rune spot, counting strides to approximate each mark's position in the Fade with where its counterpart would eventually be drawn in reality.

After close to two hours they'd completed an additional eight circles before Ellana declared that as being more than enough to keep track of. They returned through the rift and this time Solas had little to do as he watched with his arms crossed over his chest as the sentinels and Ellana set to work marking the next set of runes in charcoal. They started with the first circle they'd created and then moved on, activating each mark one after another.

Watching Ellana, Solas saw the way fatigue began to tug on her shoulders, making her slouch and slowing her step. He found himself with a perpetual frown, eager for their work to be over so Ellana could eat and rest. As the runes joined, uniting the Fade and reality, however, he tensed with alertness, searching for any sign that the marks he'd added had allowed spirits to be carried over, as there had been several lingering in the area they'd cordoned off. It was in the second massive circle's completion that he saw he'd succeeded as a green wisp suddenly appeared in their midst.

"Demon!" Iron Bull shouted, grabbing his axe. He, Dorian, Sera, and Rainier had stayed deliberately outside the runes, but the massive warrior showed no sign of fear now as he started to charge forward. Solas, still shuddering from the abrupt expansion of his core to its full strength, readied himself to stop him, but Ellana acted before he could.

"Relax, Bull," Ellana called back to him, thrusting one hand up, palm out in a _stop_ gesture. "It's not a demon, just a spirit."

"Well," Dorian commented from outside the circle. "That's new. You've never pulled one of them through before."

"Solas made some changes to the runes in the Fade," Ellana explained. "To allow spirits through."

"Of course he did," Dorian muttered, growling as he dropped his battle ready stance and tucked his staff in place on his back. Rainier likewise sheathed his sword with a slick metallic ringing. But Sera, standing at Rainier's side, was unarmed and silent. Gray circles lay under her eyes, reminders of what she'd inadvertently done the previous evening. Solas pushed the thought and the memory aside before it could distract him with emotion.

Iron Bull stood down with a grunt, though his single eye narrowed distrustfully as he watched the wisp darting about the circle. Yet the spirit stayed within the rune circle, trapped by the barrier they formed. Without more marks such as the ones Solas had placed in the Fade, the spirit would be confined to the areas restored with the Fade—as much as limiting the spirits bothered Solas he knew it served a notable purpose in deterring humans from this land Ellana and Mythal intended to create.

Iron Bull returned to his spot standing at Dorian's side, overseeing everything yet outside of it. Also outside of it were the two Dalish warriors, doubtless anxious about accidentally casting if they were inside the circle when it activated. Everyone had been cautious of the potential for accidentally casting magic since the previous night. Lyris had told Solas that Ellana had been the first to accidentally cast—with lightning no less.

The thought of it drew his eyes to her, roving appreciatively over her shapely legs and her waist still slim despite her pregnancy. He considered how he might teach her to cast and control her magic, to get to know it the same way she had with her own physical body. He imagined her holding veilfire or Fade stepping or twirling her staff as she sent chain lightning arcing over enemies…the heat of longing spread through him and he pushed his thoughts aside to prevent his body from reacting.

Still, now that they had expanded the restored area significantly, stretching it well beyond the ruins and their campground, Solas knew they'd need to take time to ensure the elves among them unaccustomed to magic knew enough that they could control it. As soon as the last circle was activated, Solas moved to intercept Ellana and suggested it to her.

She nodded, weariness dragging her features down. "I was thinking the same thing." She tilted her head up, letting the dappled sunshine peeking in through the canopy color her face. "Thank you," she said again after a moment in a soft voice. "This really would be impossible without your help."

"It was my pleasure, vhenan." Fingers twitching at his side, he resisted the urge to reach for her, cradle her cheek, aware that others were watching. The sentinels had dispersed with their work finished, returning to guard positions or the endless domestic work needed for camp, but Solas could still feel Mahanon, the Dalish, Lyris, and Ellana's Inquisition friends lingering, waiting for her most likely. The weight of their eyes on him set his muscles taut, as if expecting a fight at any moment. He wanted to withdraw, to remain chilly and aloof, yet he stayed fixated on Ellana, his mind and body distracted with yearning.

"You should eat and rest," Solas told her and gave in to his desire as he stepped closer and laid a hand over her cheek. "You mustn't tire yourself excessively. I will remain here to help. There will be time."

Sighing, she nuzzled into his touch and Solas' found his heart suddenly pounding in his throat. "I hope you're right," she murmured. Blinking at him, she clasped her right hand around his wrist and then, deliberately, stepped back from him. The flicker of something like fear passed over her features and Solas' stomach clenched, his chest tightening. He realized what she'd actually been saying was _I hope you're telling me the truth._

Her distrust rankled him, making his shoulders hunch slightly, but he suppressed it, reminding himself she had reason to doubt him. He'd brought this on himself. Closing his eyes to try and hide his pain, Solas turned his head away from her and let his hand fall to his side.

"Will I destabilize the Anchor using it like this?" she asked, the fear tightening her voice impossible to miss.

Glancing back at her, Solas forced a smile onto his lips though he knew it wouldn't touch his eyes. "It is possible, but primarily the Anchor reacts to ancient magic and…my own magic." His shoulders slumped and he clenched his jaw, unable to keep himself from thinking that he was always putting her in danger. They might as well be diametrically opposed to each other, like fire and ice. "Did it pain you when I reshaped the Fade?"

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. Gazing at the hand in question, she flexed it and traced the line of the Anchor in her palm. "It's felt a lot better since Abelas discharged it the first time—and then the second time when you discharged it…after…" She made a face, her brow crinkling with confusion as her green eyes slid to where Sera still stood with the others, making small talk.

Pinching his lips together, he said, "I will teach you to discharge it yourself before it can overcome you. That will help keep it stable for now." Pausing a moment, he smiled—a real one this time. "If you'll allow me, I'd also like to volunteer to be your tutor in magic."

Chuckling, she shot him a knowing look. "I wondered when you'd ask. How could I say no? Though I expect you'll be bored because I know absolutely nothing and you'll have to go slow and start from the _very_ beginning. I suspect Dorian and Mahanon would both—"

"You would not be my first student," he reassured her, unable to keep the eager grin from his face. "Far from it, in fact." He hesitated a second, seeing the curiosity in her eyes and then decided to tell her more to satisfy it—and encourage her trust. "Before I became Fen'Harel I often served as tutor in small villages like the one where I grew up. And later, before my rebellion, I taught the children of the highest nobility in Falon'Din's lands and Mythal's."

"How did you have the time to do that once you rose to power?" she asked, appearing startled.

Solas smirked. "We were immortal, vhenan." At her lingering confusion he shrugged, flippant. "I also chose to avoid many of the other, longer diversions of Arlathan." He didn't explain what those had been—plays and symphonies of magic and sound that took years to complete, as well as parties and orgies that'd make even the naughtiest Orlesian or Ferelden ruler blush and stare dumbfounded. Skipping over such extravagant luxuries, he said, "It was important to me that I change the culture of Elvhenan in any way I could. A number of the children I taught in those years grew up to join my cause."

"Well then, hahren," she said chuckling. "When will our first lesson commence?"

Eyes skipping over her for a moment and settling on the round shape of her belly, Solas said, "After you have eaten and recovered enough to actually appreciate the lesson." He paused before meeting her eye with a smirk. "Da'len."

She laughed now and the sound sent a pleasurable, warm sensation washing through him. "Ma nuvenin, hahren."

* * *

 

The afternoon had given way into evening, with the sun rapidly dropping to the horizon, shining its golden rays through the trees. The rune circles had been expanded far enough that the edges were well out of sight around massive bulks of trees and rocky outcrops. Ellana tried to imagine how long it'd take them to cover the entirety of the Dales and found herself scowling into her bowl of rabbit stew. She could hear the occasional crackle of lightning echoing off the hills and trees, or the flash of fire as Mahanon and Dorian worked with Lerand and Samhel.

Ellana had tried to talk with Sera, but the elven archer had avoided her, leaving with Rainier, Cole, and Arina to scout in a widening search around their area. Sera had also refused magical tutoring from both Dorian and Mahanon. According to Dorian, Sera hadn't denied lessons with her usual profanity-laced jargon, but rather a simple and emphatic _no,_ her brown eyes wide and haunted. So it made sense for her to leave on the scouting mission. They needed to know where they were exactly and what settlements were nearby.

With Solas' help they could expand almost exponentially, though Ellana couldn't deny it was still daunting and had left her head heavy and her limbs a tad weak. Much of her exhaustion had been hunger-based, however, and with Solas and Lyris both pestering her, Ellana had eaten and soon felt much of her energy return. A brief nap had helped as well, though she'd again had nightmares of herself dying.

Lost in her thoughts about Sera and the inevitable challenges of expanding their territory, which would eventually include conflict with the Orlesians as they reclaimed the Dales, she almost didn't hear Solas ask, "Are you feeling up to a lesson, vhenan?"

Raising her head and meeting his warm gaze, she smiled at him. "I could use the distraction."

"I thought as much," he said with a nod and rose to his feet from his position beside their fire. Lyris sat at his side, gradually donning her shiny armor as she prepared to join Iron Bull and some of the sentinels on patrols of the rune circles' perimeters. Standing over her, Solas extended his hand, offering to help her up.

Feeling heat spread over her cheeks, Ellana accepted the offer, grunting as she hefted herself upright. "Thank you," she said, sheepish as she tugged at her coat, trying to adjust it over her ever-growing belly. "I can't believe how big I've gotten and I'm still months away from being done." Chuckling, she snuck a glance at him and found something tender yet also raw with want. The blush over her face only intensified.

"You're still tiny," Lyris said with a short laugh. "Trust me, it'll get a lot worse."

"You are beautiful, vhenan," Solas told her solemnly, edging closer and grasping her hand. "You have always been beautiful and you will always _be_ beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, staring at his blue eyes, pierced by them.

Lyris chuckled softly. "This is a side of you, Fen'Harel, that I never expected to see." At his sudden glare of disapproval she raised a palm in a placating motion. "It's not a criticism, hahren. Quite the opposite." Grunting as she got up as well, Lyris nodded to Ellana. "Good luck with your lessons. I expect Fen'Harel will make you into a capable arcane warrior, rift mage, or—"

Ellana laughed, interrupting her. "I'll be happy if I can just manage to hit something and not accidentally shock or burn anyone."

"If humans and Qunari can manage it, I'm sure you can," Lyris said with a snort. "Magic is the gift of the People and you are certainly one of us." She stalked away a few steps and then nodded back at them both in farewell.

Ellana followed Solas as he gathered a spare stave from Mahanon's tent, doing something with it briefly that made the wood glimmer white-green. At her baffled look he explained, "I am cleansing the residual energies from it that your brother left behind. These would disrupt your casting."

"Ah," Ellana said, smiling though she hadn't a clue what exactly that meant.

Handing her the stave along with a strap to secure it to her, Solas said, "Lyris told me that your magic manifested first as lightning. It would seem you favor the art of storm magic." He flashed an amused, lopsided smile. "I am not surprised."

She arched a brow. "Are you implying something about my temperament?"

"Why would I do such a thing?" Solas asked with mock-innocence. "You wound me, vhenan."

"Right." Chuckling as she shook her head, Ellana pushed the stave into the strap at her back, struggling with it a moment to find the ideal position. Too far forward and she became top heavy, too low and it dragged on the ground. Solas moved in to help her and Ellana was sure his hands lingered longer than they needed to on the back of her neck and her hips as he adjusted it in the strap.

With that complete Ellana followed Solas, noting again that her teacher had foregone a staff himself. In fact she hadn't seen him carry one for weeks. She found herself hunching forward, trying to keep the staff from catching on the ground as they descended a small hill, still within the rune circles. On the other side of the hill Mahanon, Dorian, Lerand, and Samhel were practicing, all four men holding their staffs and adopting the mage's battle ready stance with legs spread wide. The air held the tingling charge of magic.

"And just where do you think you're taking her?" Dorian asked Solas, glaring as they walked past, feet crunching on the underbrush.

"A magic lesson," Ellana answered before Solas could. She noticed he hadn't slowed his pace though he did turn to pin Dorian with an answering glare of his own.

Dorian snorted. "We've been at this for hours. I don't see why you couldn't have—"

"Let them go," Mahanon interrupted Dorian with a withering look. "They are family. Family teach one another."

Scoffing, Dorian said, _"You're_ her family. And far more trustworthy."

Now Solas did pause, whipping around and speaking partially in elven to Ellana's brother. "Mahanon, it sounds as though the Tevinter has grown fond of you. Dareth, lethallin. Dorian isalal'ishanen." _Careful, cousin. Dorian sexually desires men._

"Solas," Ellana scolded, hissing his name. "Really…"

Mahanon snorted as Lerand and Samhel sniggered.

"Maker's breath," Dorian grumbled. "Useless, the lot of you." He whacked Lerand on the back of the head, making the young elf flinch away and laugh. "Focus before you set something on fire by accident. But, if you do, make sure you aim for Solas."

Exchanging a quick smile with Mahanon, Ellana had to hurry as Solas had already begun walking again, his long-legged stride eating up the ground with ease. He reached the end of their last rune circle, out of sight of where Mahanon and Dorian were running their lessons, and curled around a large tree, careful not to step over the boundary.

Ellana had noticed that of all the elves entering and leaving the circles, Solas had the most visible reaction to leaving the Fade. It always made him stagger, his expression wrinkling as though pained. Even after years listening to him talk about the Fade and its wonders, Ellana hadn't quite understood his love for it. Yet, after just a day in and out of it herself, she found it hard _not_ to miss it when she was outside the circles. Even when she'd been hungry and exhausted from activating so many runes, the return of the Fade had rejuvenated her, returning much of her lost stamina.

She waited as Solas contemplated the tree and its thick, snakelike roots for a few moments and then, casually, he stretched out a palm and the greenish ether of the Fade seemed to swim up at his wordless command. She stared, wide eyed and stunned, as Solas created a post of brownish stone that rose up to about chest height. It was a target for her to aim at, just shorter and thinner than a man, which would require her to be more precise here than on the battlefield.

When he looked at her, Ellana couldn't wipe away her surprise fast enough. She'd expected him to be smug, but instead something like chagrin passed over his face. "Apologies, vhenan," he told her. "I forget that all of this is still new to you."

Humming in the back of her throat, she decided to indulge her curiosity. "How much can you change?"

Solas clucked his tongue at her as if scolding, but his smile was warm. "We are not here to talk about me." Striding toward her, Solas took up a spot at her side and said, "Turn your senses inward. You will feel something new to you, a sort of energy. This is your mana core. Its size dictates your strengths and limitations as a mage. It will stir whenever you will it. You choose the form your magic will take." He paused, watching her. "Have you found it?"

Ellana had already tentatively found that swirling mass of energy inside her. Concentrating on it made it seem to surge forward. She let go quickly, her breath coming faster with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "Yes."

Nodding, Solas motioned to the post. "Grasp energy from your core and let it come out as it wills at first. Attack. "

Narrowing her eyes with concentration, Ellana felt the magic bubble, pressing on her insides. The baby kicked and squirmed, distracting her a moment. Blinking, she refocused when the baby had stilled and again willed something to happen. Long seconds passed with Solas' gaze on her, patient and silent. She felt sweat beading on her brow and frowned. "Nothing's happening."

His velvet voice chuckled and he stepped closer, his hands taking her right arm and lifting it, palm out, to aim at the post. "Magic requires will and direction. The physical motions of casting are integral to it." He spoke the words close to her ear, his breath warm and moist.

Swallowing as her mouth suddenly seemed flooded with saliva, Ellana waited until he released her arm and then, concentrating again, repeated the motion. With a jerk of her right arm and hand, she willed herself to strike the post and—

Light flickered, the air crackled. Purple-white lightning streaked out from her and into the post and the tree, scorching it and flashing as it faded. The shock and blowback from it made Ellana gasp, stumbling.

Solas' arms caught her, kept her upright. Breathing hard, she groaned with frustration. "That startled me."

"Yes," Solas said with another throaty chuckle. "I could see that. It will take some time to adjust to, certainly, but you are already doing well, vhenan."

She shot him a disbelieving look. "You cannot be serious. I barely hit the post _and_ I just tried to fall flat on my rump."

As if her words had called his attention to it, Ellana felt his hand slide appreciatively over the aforementioned body part. She swatted his hand away, shaking her head and smirking at his lascivious expression. "Tell me, hahren," she murmured, feigning annoyance. "How am I supposed to concentrate with your hands on me?"

"I was merely checking to make sure you were uninjured, vhenan," he said, the glint of mischief in his blue eyes unmistakable. Stepping just out of reach of her, he motioned at the post. "Attack again, if you would."

Smirking, Ellana returned her focus to the post. This time when she flung lightning at it she stood her ground, not flinching as much. Yet the recoil of the magic still knocked her backward.

Solas again steadied her with one hand between her shoulder blades. "Your stance must be wide," he instructed as the hand not on her back took a gentle hold of her knee, coaxing it closer to him. She shifted her body as he indicated, bending her right knee and leading with it.

"This will prevent you from falling backward," he explained, but did not withdraw from her yet. She felt the fingers of his hand on the inside of her knee flex once and then he let go and stepped clear. "Again."

Ellana repeated it with more success, not flinching and staying in place with the recoil this time. Looking at Solas out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod with approval. "Very good. Once more for good measure."

She did as he commanded, calling the lightning with minimal effort now. Now Solas said, "Let us try another school. You seem to find storm easily. Inevitably there will be one school that proves more difficult." He cleared his throat a moment before going on, "Try to will the magic into ice, spirit, or fire."

Chewing her lip, Ellana reached again for her core, feeling it respond with vigor at her touch now. She imagined heat and flames. _Fire._ Thrusting her hand up, she took aim. Nothing happened for a heartbeat before flames flashed, roaring briefly as they licked up the post and caught around the base of the post as well as the tree bark. Crackling, it continued to smolder and burn long after Ellana had dropped her hand and stared with wide eyes.

Solas put it out with a wave of his hand, smothering it with moisture that seemed to spring literally from thin air. "Well done, vhenan," he said, purring the words. "Well done, indeed."

When she turned to smile and thank him for his praise she stopped, her heart suddenly pounding and her body flushing with heat at the desire she saw in his expression. He'd been admiring her, pupils dilated, but when he noticed her staring, Solas rolled his shoulders, shifting his stance before saying, "Now, try another school."

Returning her stare to the post, Ellana again concentrated on shaping the magic into something new. But before she could try to cast it she heard Solas' feet crunch on the leaf litter as he drew closer. His warm fingers held her right forearm, gentle but firm, as his lips brushed her ear to whisper, "Try spirit, vhenan."

She shivered, swallowing. "Spirit," she repeated, willing herself to concentrate. Her mana core seemed abruptly sluggish.

Solas didn't step back from her as she'd expected. Instead he inhaled deeply, dragging his lips and nose over her ear and then down to nuzzle her throat. A chill passed through her and any hope of focusing on casting a base attack in the new school vanished. Heat unfurled in her belly, the raw ache of want suddenly aflame just as the post and the tree had been moments ago.

His hand on her forearm tracked upward and then across her shoulders, tracing along the neckline of her coat before slipping beneath the fabric to tease her neck and then jaw line. Then, just as her breath hitched in her throat, Solas' hand dropped abruptly low, to her knee, under her coat. His fingernails clinked on her chainmail, then gradually moved upward toward where they both knew she had a gap in the mail near her hips under the armored surcoat.

"Spirit, vhenan," he repeated, huskily. His other hand combed through her hair while the one on her thigh crawled steadily higher, surely aiming for that gap. She found it both hard to breathe for fear he would stop touching her and simultaneously impossible not to suck hungry breaths into her lungs. Every inhalation brought the woody scent of him, masculine and enticing.

As his fingers pushed under the armored surcoat and found the gap, brushing bare skin at her thigh, she moaned. Her eyes drifted shut and she leaned against him.

Nipping at her ear, he asked, "Am I distracting you, vhenan?"

"Yes," she said, throaty and low.

He chuckled, his hot breath wafting on her sensitive skin, fingers on her thigh still teasing, setting the hot ache inside her building. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I've wanted you all day. We will have to finish the lesson at another time. I am in no condition to continue it."

She turned her head, touching her forehead to his. "Can't keep your hands off me?"

"No," he admitted in a breathy voice. "But if you have no desire to—"

She locked her lips with his, hungry and needy, cutting him off.

* * *

  **Next Chapter:**

"No one's being attacked?" Iron Bull asked, surveying the glade and apparently coming to an answer for himself as his lips curled in a lascivious smirk. "Ah, I get it. Word of advice? Next time try to keep it down a bit." He jerked his thumb at Abelas. "Abs and I were sure someone was being attacked with all the screaming."

Abelas shot Iron Bull a snarl. "My name is _Abelas."_

Iron Bull shrugged. "Close enough."

 


	29. Magister Prissy Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas warns Ellana against trusting Mythal. Ellana says goodbye to her Inquisition friends and hopes to open up negotiations with the Chantry and Orlais.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, sexy times!

His tongue swept into her mouth as he responded to her kiss, deepening it and pressing closer to her. Ellana turned into his hold, her hands going to his chest as her hips angled to be as flush with his as she could manage with their differing heights and her belly working against her. His hand between them, with the fingers teasing the skin of her thigh exposed by the gap in her chainmail there, inched higher, making her moan.

As the sloppy kiss continued, their tongues sparring, Ellana found the clasp holding the wolf fur around his shoulder and released it. Solas hummed in the back of his throat, breaking the kiss and staring at her through eyes dark and half-lidded with longing. "It's a shame I cannot conjure a bed."

Grinning, she pushed him playfully, grabbing the wolf pelt from his shoulders. "How disappointing," she said, her voice low and husky. "What kind of Evanuris can't summon an Orlesian four-post bed with down-feather pillows and satin sheets?" Clucking her tongue in mock-reprimand. "Fortunately for you I'm a Dalish savage."

Laughing, Solas reached for her again, his hands moving to the buttons keeping her coat closed as his lips found hers again, his breath rapid and hot against her skin. As he helped her out of her coat, Solas pulled away enough to speak, both amusement and desire in his voice. "Yes, but what kind of good Dalish woman courts the Dread Wolf?"

She smirked and nibbled at his lip, eliciting a noise of appreciation from deep in his throat. "Didn't I just say I was a savage?"

With another laugh, Solas kissed her again, tasting her as his hands worked over her with the speed and efficiency of experience, tugging away her scarf and unlatching her belts and surcoat. Ellana, less familiar with the armor he wore as Fen'Harel, fumbled despite the fact he only wore the undercoat currently.

Sensing her difficulty, Solas pulled away, breathing quickly. "Trouble, vhenan?" he asked, teasing.

"I miss your hobo look," she rejoined, grinning.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You've been spending entirely too much time with Dorian."

"It was a lot easier to get into." She traced the little bit of bare skin she could reach around his collar, dragging her fingernails over him and was rewarded by the hitch in Solas' breath.

His eyes drifted shut with enjoyment before he caught her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing against her knuckles. "Will you grant me a taste?"

She felt abruptly weak at the knees, her mouth full of saliva and her stomach flip-flopping. "Do you even have to ask?"

With her hand still in his, Solas led her toward the post and motioned with his other arm, grabbing absently at the air. The stone post widened and a flat section rose up to form a seat. Ellana let him guide her to it and inhaled with surprise as her hands touched the stone, finding it warm. Before she could ask if that was intentional or just a side-effect of any reshaping magic, Solas had knelt before her and cupped her face with both hands, claiming her lips with his own.

With her belts and surcoat removed he had little trouble slipping one hand beneath her chain mail, teasing her undergarment aside to caress the side of one breast. His touch was deliberately gentle, a graze of his fingernails that set her skin erupting in gooseflesh. She sighed into his mouth, heart pounding and desire coiling tighter. As his fingers circled, drawing closer to her hardening nipple, she arched her back pressing closer to him and breathing raggedly.

He broke the kiss, trailing his lips over her jaw line and down to nuzzle her throat while his other hand dropped low to open the chainmail around her legs and navel. Clinging to him, Ellana tried to free his own clothing again, struggling with clasps and belts until she could slip her hands under his overcoat and the tunic beneath to find bare skin. The hard, lean muscles flexed with each breath he took and she felt him shiver under her touch.

His silken voice at her throat let out a soft moan. Emboldened, Ellana dropped her hands below his waist, but the armor he wore here was too well secured and form-fitting for her to pry off. Chuckling, he withdrew slightly and, with a smirk, removed his hand from her chainmail to guide her to the seams and latches on his own armor.

Grinning sheepishly, she nuzzled his ear as she managed to remove the first bit of armor from around his waist. "So difficult," she murmured.

He chuckled. "It is certainly not meant for ease of access."

Humming with amused agreement, she nibbled his ear as her fingers finally found the soft, thin leggings he wore beneath the armor. She closed a fist over his arousal, feeling its scalding heat and hardness. He moaned at her grip. "Vhenan…"

"Yes, emma lath?" she asked, breathing into his ear.

Gently but firm, Solas pulled back, his blue eyes glinting and dark with arousal and mischief. He gripped her hands by the wrist with his own, dragging them away from his erection with the flash of a lopsided smile. Pinning her hands over her head against the tree trunk behind her, he kissed her, nipping at her lower lip. Then, releasing her hands, he dropped low, turning his attention to her hips and thighs.

His hot lips and tongue blazed a trail up the inside of her thigh, the contrast with the chilly air making her shiver. She leaned back, her head lolling as he drew his way to her sex and then away again to switch to the other thigh. His hand teased along the same trail his lips had just traveled, sending more shivers through her.

Writhing as he again neared her sex, she gripped the tree behind her, breathing deep and fast. Bits of bark fell on her, scorched from the electricity and fire she'd cast earlier. When he teased her once more, nipping along her thigh and then toward her knee instead, she hissed his name with mounting, needy frustration as the ache of want intensified.

Solas chuckled against her thigh, his breath hot as it puffed against her. Then, decisively, he made his move, his mouth scorching as he lowered it to her. His tongue and lips caressed her, slow and teasing at first, but it was more than enough to send her pleasure arcing like the lightning she'd cast earlier, shooting out to every inch of her.

She gasped and squirmed, pleasure coursing through her with every deliberate stroke of his tongue. Her thighs trembled, toes curling in the dirt and grass underfoot. All conscious thought scattered as he continued the rhythmic swirl, alternating with the brush of his soft lips. Heat curled higher insider her, intensifying until she was gnashing her teeth, barely able to withstand it.

When he pressed harder with his tongue she could no longer hold back the moans, mouth open and gasping breathily. Then he slid a finger inside her, curling and rubbing in a spot that sent the hot, streaking bliss into a sudden crescendo. She cried out, hips rocking to the motion of his finger within her and his tongue lapping at her. Waves crashed over her, rocking her body wide.

Solas pulled away from her, rising from his low crouch and into a kneeling position. Shuddering as the pleasure gradually cycled down, Ellana smiled at him, keeping her legs spread wide as she grabbed for his neckline and dragged him closer while the other hand fumbled at his waist to guide him inside her. He gasped as he slid home and she sighed with satisfaction at the fullness of him.

Wrapping her legs around him as he began to thrust, she arched her back, feeling the slick heat building again. Uncaring that she'd taste herself, she kissed him, hungry and greedy as he groaned against her lips. "Vhenan…"

"Emma lath," she answered him, grinning as she saw the wrenched expression of his face as his own pleasure built rapidly.

Solas wrapped one arm around her hips, partly supporting her while the other shot out to clutch at the tree behind her to hold himself in position. His jaw clenched, teeth gritted as his breathing grew ragged and faster, almost a pant. Ellana nuzzled his neck, breathing in the scent of his sweat and nipping at his skin as she moaned, feeling her own body nearing the precipice once more.

As his hips pumped faster, thrusting his full length in and out of her, Ellana dangled at the edge, thoughts scattering again. Then Solas gasped and let out a deep, throaty grunt. He twitched inside of her, rapid pulses as he climaxed and gave a small, strangled cry of pleasure. Hearing it pushed her over and she cried out, louder this time, and clutched at his shoulders with her arms while her legs curled tighter around his hips, grinding against him as the waves of bliss rocked through her again.

Through the haze of post-sex lassitude, Ellana didn't hear the quick, heavy footfalls rushing toward them—but Solas did. Suddenly he scrambled back from her, tucking himself back inside his leggings, eyes wide and lips swollen and cheeks flushed red from lovemaking. Ellana blinked, baffled momentarily until she heard a familiar deep voice shouting in Qunlat. From the ground nearby Solas snatched the wolf pelt he typically wore over his shoulder and pushed it at her. Ellana had just covered herself with it when Iron Bull exploded into view, his axe raised high and ready to strike.

"Bull," Ellana shouted at him, voice still husky. Stop!"

The massive horned warrior stopped just short of the rune circle, his single blue eye wide and lips parted as he breathed fast from his charge. "Boss?"

More footsteps echoed off the trees and a second later Abelas appeared, his armor glinting in the dappled light. He stopped several meters shy of Iron Bull, taking in the scene with a quick onceover and sneering.

"No one's being attacked?" Iron Bull asked, surveying the glade and apparently coming to an answer for himself as his lips curled in a lascivious smirk. "Ah, I get it. Word of advice? Next time try to keep it down a bit." He jerked his thumb at Abelas. "Abs and I were sure someone was being attacked with all the screaming."

Abelas shot Iron Bull a snarl. "My name is _Abelas."_

Iron Bull shrugged. "Close enough."

Solas stood halfway obscuring Ellana's view of the other two men, a protective stance to shelter her. The tension in his body language was the only hint at his discomfort with the situation as he nodded at the interlopers. "Your vigilance is appreciated, but unneeded. No one is under attack. Please." He made a dismissive motion, as if waving them away. "Leave."

Iron Bull grunted, returning his axe to its spot on his back. "Yeah, yeah. Should've guessed you'd be cranky even _after_ getting laid." He started walking back the way he'd come, passing Abelas as he went.

The sentinel waited a moment, glowering at Solas, then he turned his head slightly and addressed Ellana instead. "Mythal wished me to thank you for your aid today, Ellana. There is, of course, still much to do, but she will see it through and meet with you when she can." He paused, glancing with narrowed eyes at Solas. "When it is safe."

Ellana didn't need to see Solas' face to know he bristled, enraged. His hands clenched into fists at his side and his shoulders bunched up as his body reacted to it. "Leave, Abelas," he ordered.

The sentinel dipped his head in an exaggerated nod, a hard smile on his lips. "As you say, Fen'Harel." Pivoting on his heel, the other elf strode off, footfalls crunching over the underbrush that hadn't survived the onset of frosts with winter.

As soon as the sound had faded, Ellana cleared her throat. "He should have relayed thanks to you as well. You did as much as I did today. You made me feel that this was truly possible."

Solas glanced at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes steely and hard until they softened watching her for a heartbeat. "Vhenan," he said softly, "I hope that you are aware you cannot trust Mythal."

"She's done nothing but help me," Ellana said, stiffening. "And her plan has allowed us to restore the Fade without killing the other races." Staying silent for a moment, she spoke more gently as she added, "Without killing you."

Solas shook his head, not answering her as he moved about the clearing, collecting discarded parts of armor, her coat, and the stave they hadn't used in their abandoned magic lesson. Ellana closed the links in her chainmail and adjusted her underthings from where Solas' ministrations had pushed them aside. Taking her surcoat and coat from him, she donned all of her clothing and passed him the wolf pelt. As he finished dressing she collected all of their belts and other straps or pouches. Her cheeks burned as she imagined the scene Abelas and Iron Bull had seen: her covered in the wolf pelt, Solas missing his lower body armor, and a variety of outer clothing scattered around the clearing. They might as well have held up enormous signs proclaiming they'd just been having sex.

Interrupting her thoughts, Solas said, "Ellana, though I may have misled you over the years we've known one another, I beg you not to place your trust in Mythal. Her goals are unclear and I suspect she will use you against me. Worse, she may use our child against us both."

Ellana froze, caught midway in the process of latching one of her belts over her surcoat. As if sensing they spoke of it, the baby kicked against her stomach. The first slow burn of indigestion crept into her throat. Raising her head to look at him, Ellana asked, "Why would you think that?"

Solas frowned and gave a little huff. "Ir abelas, vhenan. You do not know Mythal as I do. Like all of the Evanuris, she was adept at playing the Game. Her favorite way to win is through manipulation. She has already used you to force my hand here." Using his hands to emphasize his words, Solas extended one arm as he said, "With one hand she offers a gift with no obvious downside." With his other hand Solas made a fist suddenly, so tight that the knuckles flushed white. "With her other she exacts an unforeseen price."

Scowling, Ellana shook her head. "Not everything has to be a trick, Solas."

"But this _is,_ " Solas growled. "She has deceived me thusly many times in Elvhenan and now she has done the same using the Dalish Keepers. That was the gift, vhenan. We took it because we could see no reason not to do so, yet the price Mythal demands is yet ongoing."

"It's a stretch to think she will try to take our child," Ellana said, though she winced at how thin and desperate her voice sounded. To her shame she couldn't suppress the sudden constriction in her chest, the slight tremor of fear.

Solas' expression was tense, his features pinched. "There is a reason she was known as the Mother—and many of the children she raised and claimed were not of her blood. Most of them, in fact."

"Well," Ellana said, baring her teeth in a grimace as she laid a hand over her belly. "She isn't going to get our child."

"You must be vigilant," Solas intoned. "Or that is exactly what will come to pass. The sentinels are little better than slaves to her will. None of them will hesitate to take you from me or snatch our child away."

Ellana hesitated, frowning. "Morrigan told me the vallaslin the sentinels wear cannot compel them, it merely lets her communicate with them."

Solas snorted. "Did you forget that Morrigan herself is a thrall to Mythal?" He shook his head, a look of disgust crossing his features. "Nothing the witch says can be trusted."

Shoulders slumping, Ellana scrubbed at her face and groaned. How could she trust what Solas told her? Was he just feeding her something to put a wedge between herself and Morrigan, or Mythal, or the sentinels? All of them? Yet, like most of what he said, this rang with the note of truth.

"I'll be cautious," she murmured with a sigh, evading his stare, feeling it prickle her skin. "But Mythal and Morrigan haven't betrayed me the way Fen'Harel has…"

He flinched at her words, a mixture of anger and anguish furrowing his brow. He opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again. Finally he nodded to her. "Ir abelas, vhenan. I have wronged you, but while I live I will always fight to protect you and our child."

That she could believe. She let the sting of old wounds burning inside her chest diminish into a simmer, quiet for now, and found she could manage a smile. Striding to him over the crunching leaf litter, she laid her hands over his chest and stared up into his somber face. "I will always trust you in that, Solas. But I need _you_ to trust me as your partner in leadership, too. Let me get to know Fen'Harel."

Solas smiled, closed-lipped, but his blue eyes were warm with affection. He leaned his forehead down to touch with hers. "Ma nuvenin," he murmured.

* * *

 

The next morning as Ellana emerged from her tent, eyes still bleary with sleep and clumsy fingers struggling to clasp her surcoat into place, Dorian called to her from outside the rune circle. He stood at the very edge of the boundary, his staff strapped to his back and his arms crossed tight over himself as he shivered. She made her way over to him.

"Good morning," she said, halting just inside the boundary, smiling.

Dorian snorted, teeth chattering. "Well, it's certainly _morning,_ " he grumbled. "I'm not sure how _good_ it is."

As with the previous morning Ellana saw heavy frost outside the rune circles while the inside was fairly comfortable, enough that she left her coat inside the tent and wasn't shivering. At first she'd assumed the Fade caused the unseasonable warmth inside the circles, but that hypothesis had been proven wrong when she left for her magic lesson and felt the temperature dip sharply the further she got from camp. When she'd consulted Solas as they lay together in their tent before dropping off to sleep, he'd chuckled and admitted it was _his_ influence. He apparently willed the air to be warmer and the Fade, pliant and obedient, acquiesced.

The casual power of it still left her shivering with awe.

But outside the circle Dorian was shivering from the cold and behind him Iron Bull was breaking down their tent. "Are you leaving?" Ellana asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm afraid so, old girl," Dorian said, rubbing his hands together to try and warm them. "I can guess how all this will play out and I've never been fond of tragedies. I had hoped to intercede before it gets to that point. For your sake, of course, not his."

Stamping his feet with the cold, Dorian gave a body-wide shudder before going on. "I do hope that offer of negotiation is still open? You remember, the one where you make me look delusional in front of our mutual friend, most holy Cassandra? Then maybe we find a peaceful solution to this mess, yes?"

Nodding, Ellana said, "I remember, and yes. I would prefer a peaceful solution. The Dales are rightfully ours. Mythal intends to take them regardless of what Cassandra or Orlais think."

"I would say you've gone mad, but I've been speaking with the sentinels whenever I get the chance. The little one, the rogue, Arista?"

"Arina," Ellana corrected with a gentle smile.

"Yes, that one." Dorian shuffled his feet again, shivering. "She tells me that _Fen'Harel_ has an army." He sneered. "I wish I didn't believe her, but I do. That bald bastard is dangerous." Sighing, the Tevinter looked away from her to where Rainier and Sera had emerged from the tent they shared and begun breaking it down as well. "Oh Ellana," he mumbled. "Why couldn't you have made the sensible choice and bedded one of those two, hmm? I'd bet that beard is softer than it looks and Sera's glib tongue I'm sure is—"

"What you on about?" Sera asked him, teeth chattering.

"Nothing, nothing," he replied, grinning as Ellana snapped her jaw shut and tried to dispel the heat creeping over her cheeks.

"Really, Dorian," she said, chuckling.

Leaving Rainier to finish breaking down their tent, Sera stepped toward the rune circle, shooting anxious gazes at Ellana. She alternatively crossed her arms and uncrossed them, shuddering with the cold.

"Lana," she said, using the informal name with a strained, hoarse voice that quaked likely as much with emotion as from the chilly morning. "Bout the other night." She wrung her hands in front of her. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't—I don't know what happened. I mean, I _do_ know." Her lip curled, flashing her teeth. "Was the blighted Fade-thing. What you're standing in. I ran through it, yeah? Didn't know. And then…" She squeezed her eyes shut and growled through gnashed teeth. "Andraste's tits, I'm such an arse! Stupid twat. It all went bits up, face down, and—"

Cole suddenly appeared and spoke from Sera's right. "Warm crawling all over me, like spiders. Prickling and needling everywhere. Can't think, can't focus, can't stop. Muscles flex and twitch. Fingers slip from the string. The arrow flies, but without direction. Straight into _her."_ His breathy words made the archer yelp and scramble away, straight into Dorian.

"Shut it, thing!" Sera railed against the spirit, but tears glimmered in her eyes

Ellana stared at Cole and then Sera, her throat suddenly tight. She tried to swallow it. Her actual memories of being shot were vague, mostly formed from the ongoing nightmares she'd caught from glimpsing the others' dreams and memories through the Fade. Words refused to form, so she stared at the frosty grass outside the rune circle.

"I almost killed her," Cole murmured, his voice intense and his eyes glazed. " _I_ almost killed the Herald of Andraste. She's not supposed to be fragile. Blood, red and wet, spilling all over. Don't die! You can't die! I swear to the Maker I'll never fire another arrow ever again."

"I think that's enough, Cole," Dorian grumbled, still holding a trembling Sera by the shoulders.

"Get out of here," Sera shouted at the spirit.

"I'm not helping?" Cole asked, eyebrows raised with surprise.

"Not helping," Sera raged back at him, hands clenching into fists.

"I'm sorry," Cole said, a confused, troubled look on his face. "Should I go?"

"Yes," Sera growled, glaring at him before anyone else could. The spirit winked out of view, though Ellana suspected he'd likely not gone far.

"Sera," Ellana called to her, finally finding her voice. When the young archer looked to her, tears now rolling down her cheeks, Ellana said, "It's all right. You were just trying to help that night. You didn't know where the rune circles were. It was an accident and I'd never hold it against you."

She sniffled, glancing at Ellana and then quickly away again as she scraped one shoe at the frosted grass blades under foot. "Meant it, y'know. Bout never firing another arrow if you…" She broke off, choking and cursing under her breath as she swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "Blast it."

"It's okay," Ellana said and then, steeling herself for both the cold and the loss of her new magical core, she stepped outside the boundary. As the caress of the Fade left her she winced, shaking her head a moment before she moved to embrace the archer. Sera hugged her back and let out a little whimpered cry. Ellana patted her back. "See? I'm all right. I'm whole. It barely hurts anymore."

As they parted, Sera flashed a weak smile. "Never been so happy seeing droopy ears or his weirdy magic before," she muttered. Then, sobering, she gently tapped Ellana's belly. "What about wittle in there? Mini droopy ears."

Ellana laughed, though she hunched over as she started shivering, the cold settling into her skin. "He's doing fine."

"He, yeah?" Sera asked and then giggled. "What, you sure?"

Ellana shrugged. "Just a feeling. My brother has a daughter, so it just seems right I'll have a boy."

Dorian heaved a long sigh. "It would appear I'm going to owe a certain dwarf a few royals come springtime then."

"Nah," Sera insisted with a small grin. "Tossing up cookies _always_ means girl."

"What's this now?" Rainier asked, coming closer. Unlike everyone else he seemed comfortable with the chill in his heavy, bulky armor and with his thick black beard. "The babe's a boy?" He laughed. "I knew it."

"The coin I flipped said boy, too," Iron Bull supplied with a smirk as he too came to stand near Ellana, taking a spot beside Dorian. "Morning, Boss." Like Dorian and Sera, the currently shirtless warrior appeared hunched with the cold, arms clasped over his chest to preserve his warmth.

"Morning, Bull," she said with a friendly nod. "Dorian tells me you're leaving today."

"Technically Cassandra hired me," Iron Bull explained but gestured to Dorian. "But in reality it's a nice excuse to play bodyguard for Magister prissy pants here."

Dorian huffed, indignant. "Excuse me? As if I needed you clomping around here like a beast of burden when I—"

"Mm," Iron Bull hummed with a wink. "That sounds like a nicer job description, don't you think, Boss?"

As Dorian blushed and stammered, Ellana laughed and shook her head. "I missed you all." Shivering, she shuffled from foot to foot, suddenly aware of the intense urge to pee but pushing it aside. "I suppose I'm about to miss you all again." Turning to look over her shoulder at the camp behind her, she sighed. Solas watched her from the campfire several meters away, observant and tense. She couldn't blame him considering she'd nearly died just two days ago, but did he really expect their friends to cart her off or hurt her?

 _No,_ a bitter voice whispered inside her. _He's watching as both Solas and Fen'Harel, worrying as much for his security as for your wellbeing._

Sobering, she faced the four in front of her and said, "I will always be open to negotiation with Divine Victoria, but my demands are steep. We must have an elven homeland and the Dales are rightfully ours."

"I agree with you, darling," Dorian said with a meaningful nod. "What the Chantry did when they took the Dales was atrocious. But I highly doubt Cassandra will be able to give you what you want."

"And Solas means to take it?" Rainier asked gruffly.

After pausing a moment to consider the niceties of exactly _who_ planned to take the Dales—Mythal, Morrigan, Fen'Harel, or Ellana herself—she decided it wasn't worth elaborating and merely nodded. "Yes."

"And you think he can?" Iron Bull asked, arching the eyebrow over his single good eye.

This time the cold morning air around them tightened with tension. This was the question that truly mattered to them. If Ellana, whose judgment as former Inquisitor they truly trusted, believed Solas capable of taking what he wanted, then they'd consider him a serious threat. Swallowing the lump in her throat and forcing herself to keep breathing, Ellana said, "Easily."

Sera scoffed. "Are you daft? Droopy ears?"

She closed her eyes, clenching her jaw to keep from chattering with the cold. "There's a reason the ancient elves mistook Evanuris for gods." She heaved a sigh and again stared at the grass. "My understanding is that with the Fade restored Solas could destroy whole towns." She paused a heartbeat to let that sink in before adding, "Singlehandedly."

"Damn," Iron Bull grunted. "I hope you're wrong, Boss."

"I hope you're right," Rainier interjected, motioning at Ellana with a concerned look. "You realize the Chantry, Orlais, the Templars, _everyone_ will want you both dead...if he _can't_ do what you claim..."

"They already want them dead," Dorian added with a frown. "And you forgot to add the Imperium to that list of yours, Thom."

"No he didn't," Iron Bull quipped with a smirk. "It goes without saying because the Vints always want everyone else dead."

Dorian shot him a glare. "Yes, as do the Qunari."

"Not my problem," Iron Bull said with a grin and a thump on his chest. "Tal Vashoth, remember?"

With a longsuffering sigh, Dorian faced Ellana again. "We'll return to Val Royeaux with your message, old girl. I can't say Divine Victoria will be pleased with us for it, but we'll certainly give it a try."

"Cass'll blow off that dumb hat of hers for sure," Sera added with a giggle.

After hugging all four of them goodbye and constantly fighting the lump of emotion in her throat, Ellana watched them walk away through the forest, carefully avoiding the Fade-restored circles. Despite the cold, she stayed in that spot, just outside where their little camp had been, until they were out of sight. As soon as they were gone she felt her eyes sting with tears and she sucked in a deep breath to fight them off as doubt weighed her down.

Was she doing the right thing? Could any of this really succeed?

The rustle of feet off to her left startled her out of her thoughts. When she looked to the source she found Solas standing at the edge of the rune circle, wearing a concerned expression. "Vhenan?"

The tenderness in his blue eyes warmed her from within, easing the pressure of the doubt inside. She smiled at him and crossed the runes, shivering with pleasure as the Fade sung in her blood and magic erupted inside her, coiling. The baby kicked as if it too rejoiced at the touch of the Fade.

Laying her hand on Solas' cheek, she asked, "Should we get to work?"

"Yes," he answered, smirking. "But only after you have eaten."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, mamae."

* * *

 

Only three days later they encountered their first resistance from humans. It was a group of bandits that'd set up camp in a jumble of boulders that formed a sheltered cove, about twenty strong and all of them human. The elves slaughtered the bandits overnight, a fact Ellana only discovered the following morning when she accompanied Solas, Lyris, and half a dozen sentinels into the area to activate the charcoal runes for their next enormous circle.

As she waited beside Solas and Lyris, Ellana saw abandoned, charred bedrolls, chests, loot sacks, and other supplies. Magic still lingered in the air, making it thrum and tingle on her skin. Ellana had heard Lerand and Samhel discuss the bandit camp they'd spied the previous evening while scouting and realized this must've been it.

"You had them killed?" she asked Solas, keeping her voice neutral.

"I approached them in the evening," Solas answered. "They did not take well to my suggestion that they leave." Ellana recognized the cautious note in his voice that suggested he might be holding something back. She frowned to herself but said nothing.

Nearby the camp, where the bandits had pitched tents and maintained a hearth, keeping the earth beneath them softer in the gathering cold of winter, Ellana spotted disturbed dirt. _Fresh graves,_ she thought and knew if she dug into the ground there she'd find fresh bones and bodies, or perhaps just ash. Exhausted by activating runes all yesterday, Ellana had gone to sleep quickly at sundown, struggling with heartburn and the baby's constant kicking and increasing weight against her spine and internal organs. Yet she'd still managed to plunge into a deep sleep. How long had Solas taken to kill these men? Had he gone with help or had he killed them singlehandedly, despite being restricted by the Veil out here beyond the finished circles?

"You didn't tell me about this," Ellana commented, again striving to keep her voice neutral. But she couldn't bring herself to look at him and instead remained focused on the recently upset, black soil.

Solas' hand brushed reassuringly over her back and then her shoulder. "I did not wish to trouble you, vhenan. These men were unthinking thugs with no capacity for anything save violence. I offered them the chance to flee; they attacked instead."

Now she rounded on him, glaring and angry. "You should have consulted me. Am I not your partner, Fen'Harel?"

He winced and started to reply but Lyris cleared her throat with a deep grunt, saying, "I advised him against waking you, Ellana. The blame is mine." She shot a sidelong glance at Solas, her expression softening with something like sympathy. "Forgive me, hahren."

Solas shook his head and made a dismissive gesture at her. "There's nothing to forgive, falon." To Ellana, however, he ducked his head, his blue eyes crinkling and narrowed with regret. "But I would ask your forgiveness, vhenan, if you would grant it."

The sight of his chagrin melted the hard, cold distrust gripping at her chest. She nodded. "Of course, emma lath, but please—include me with such things going forward. I'd rather not have us garner a reputation for violence against humans."

His smile was small, reserved but genuine as it softened his eyes. "As you wish."

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

A herald from somewhere still within the gates called out, "Her most holy, Divine Victoria, former Seeker of Truth, Right Hand of Divine Justinia the fifth…"

Cassandra made a groaning noise in her throat, losing her patience at the ongoing barrage of titles. Her armor glimmered as she looked over the elves assembled before her. Leliana was on her left and Cullen on her right, both of them in full ceremonial formalwear. "I am pleased you have come," she said to them in greeting, though her lips were pinched in a tight line. "I hope we can come to a peaceful arrangement that suits all involved."

* * *

Author note: I like to think of this chapter ending the army-building elven revolution storyline. Now we're back to politics and the world stage of Thedas for a while. 


	30. Return to Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some weeks restoring the Fade in the Emerald Graves, Solas and Ellana journey to Halamshiral to formally negotiate with Empress Celene, the Inquisition, and the Chantry. They learn an interesting bit of old news about Vivienne, and then Solas learns Abelas is behaving strangely.

The familiar sight of Inquisition soldiers in full armor, with their Chantry sunburst complete with the sword at its center, tugged Ellana's mouth into a smile despite the strangeness of current events. The soldiers lined the path leading through Halamshiral toward the winter palace, their faces hidden behind gleaming helmets. They all wore swords and shields, armed and armored and alert to danger.

Further in, through the gates, Ellana saw masked Orlesian guards waiting as well. Unlike the Inquisition soldiers, the Orlesians had taken positions not to protect from the elven intruders at the gate, but to keep order among the city elves of Halamshiral. Ellana could hear the city elves shouting behind barricades that kept them separated from the Orlesians guards and nobles, but the more intrepid elves had scaled iron-wrought fences and earthenware walls and now sat or clung to them calling out to Fen'Harel.

Their voices washed over Ellana in waves of hot and cold, awe intermixed with fear. "Mien'harel," they called. "Dread Wolf! Mien'harel!"

_Rebellion._

Behind her on the hart they rode, Solas's body was tense, radiating heat and strength, and magic that made her skin tingle—especially the Anchor. Ellana clenched her hand under the gray cloak she wore. They must look quite the pair to the soldiers, guards, city elves, and Orlesian nobles gathered on either side of the gates. Solas wore his glimmering metallic armor and the black wolf headdress while she had the paler cloak keeping her warm and hiding her Dalish scout armor while a fur-lined hood obscured her head and face. The Orlesians would no doubt sneer at them regardless of what they did, said, or wore to these peace negotiations, but to the city elves they and their elven retinue in gleaming armor must look like Arlathan of old.

 _We are all but shadows of it,_ she thought and closed her eyes, remembering the memories Solas had crafted for her during her lessons as a Dreamer. She'd seen the floating crystalline spires, the courtyards that glowed with golden magic, fountains and lights that never ceased, and songs that made her cry at their touching beauty. Yet beneath it she'd also glimpsed the darker truth of Elvhenan—an empire that ran on magic and shamelessly collected it from its own enslaved people to keep its wonders functioning.

Staring at the elves on the fences and the walls, still shouting to them, Ellana wished she could still pray to the Creators, to something bigger than herself. _I hope we can make a place a homeland more beautiful than Arlathan with none of its abuse._

The sky was overcast, a bitter wind whipping through the air carrying the occasional snowflake. Yet already much of the snow had melted here at the city gates, exposing wet mud beneath. Soon the first yellow-white shoots of grass would sprout, marking the true arrival of spring.

 _And our child not soon after,_ she thought, hands curling protectively over her swollen belly. Her bladder was full, again, but she knew she'd have to wait now and tried to ignore it. The baby was motionless, likely sleeping, so that helped at least.

Her back and hips were stiff, aching from the long hours of riding. Wriggling to try and ease the discomfort, she sighed and the hart grunted, stamping one hoof with a sharp clattering against the wet rocky gravel below. Solas inclined his head to speak near her ear. "Are you well, vhenan?"

"I hope they have a chamber pot ready," she said, twisting as much as she could to stare up at his eyes, shadowed beneath the headdress. "Because I'm not sure which is worse—wetting myself in front of everyone or waddling off to—"

A trumpeting horn cut her off and a moment later the clattering of horse hooves clomping and clattering over the stone path into the city. Soon Ellana could see a troupe of armored Templars dressed in gold armor, marking them as the personal bodyguards of the Divine. Dorian, on a horse ahead of their hart, prodded his mount forward a few steps as the Templars and their horses pranced through the gate and encircled their group.

Tension set Ellana's muscles taut, her heart thumping hard on her breastbone and her eyes darting about with trepidation. Behind her, Solas released the hart's reins with one hand and laid it over her shoulder, offering comfort through touch. "Peace, vhenan," he whispered to her. "Whatever comes, I will protect you."

Somehow she wasn't sure if those words were more for her or for himself. Away from the rune circles that restored the Fade, Ellana knew he was significantly weaker. He'd petrified four Templars without breaking a sweat when they fled the winter palace outside Halamshiral in the late summer, but there were twelve of them in Cassandra's entourage and even Ellana could feel the chill press of their magic suppression—despite having no magic currently.

Lyris and Mathrel stood on either side of their hart, stiff and with their stances already low and ready for battle. In addition to the arcane warriors there were dozens of Dalish Firsts and warriors from a variety of clans who'd distinguished themselves over the last five weeks of the campaign to conquer the Emerald Graves. A handful of sentinels had also accompanied them, with Abelas acting as one of their personal bodyguards like the arcane warriors.

Thom Rainier and Iron Bull rounded out their unusual retinue of bodyguards. Dorian, meanwhile, as their spokesperson and semi-ambassador, was the one who'd arrived at the edge of the Emerald Graves just a week ago with Rainier and Iron Bull to plead with Ellana and Solas to come to Halamshiral for peace talks hosted by Divine Victoria. He'd promised them diplomatic immunity and Ellana trusted him wholeheartedly, though Solas hadn't and insisted on taking a force of nearly fifty elves in case of betrayal. Now Ellana's stomach clenched and her bladder seemed to shrink, wondering if Solas would be right and this was a trap after all.

Then, trotting regally through the gates, came three horses bedecked in armor that glittered in silver and gold. Two of them were in silver with the Inquisition symbol set into the metal, gleaming despite the overcast day, but the third horse glimmered with gold and jangled with tassels of amber to resemble flames. Ellana found herself tensing as she recognized all three riders—Leliana and Cullen on the silver mounts, while Cassandra rode the golden steed.

A herald from somewhere still within the gates called out, "Her most holy, Divine Victoria, former Seeker of Truth, Right Hand of Divine Justinia the fifth…"

Cassandra made a groaning noise in her throat, losing her patience at the ongoing barrage of titles. Her armor glimmered as she looked over the elves assembled before her. Leliana was on her left and Cullen on her right, both of them in full ceremonial formalwear. "I am pleased you have come," she said to them in greeting, though her lips were pinched in a tight line. "I hope we can come to a peaceful arrangement that suits all involved."

The chorus of shouting from the city elves grew deafening as they crowed insults aimed at the Divine or simply screeched her name and asked for blessing. As much as they might long for _mien'harel_ and support the mysterious mage who'd donned the ancient mantle of Fen'Harel, most of them were Andrastian and likely supported Divine Victoria. She'd served well as Divine, from everything Ellana had heard and witnessed firsthand…except for when she and Leliana had imprisoned Solas. Did they wish now that they'd tried to kill him?

The thought awoke the hard, cold outrage inside Ellana's chest. Her hands clenched into fists over her belly.

"We wish the same," Dorian said, shouting to be heard over the roar of the city elves. "Perhaps we might continue this elsewhere?"

Cassandra nodded and it was a wonder that the ridiculous oval of her helmet didn't topple off her head. Her eyes found Ellana for a moment, softening at the outer edges a second before she jerked on the reins, turning the horse around. She proceeded down the path into the city's main thoroughfare, which had been blocked off by both Orlesian and Inquisition forces. Leliana and Cullen followed her, then the Templars motioned at Dorian, indicating he and the elven group should enter next.

Ellana felt Solas stiffen behind her, anticipating danger. His hand on the rein of their hart tightened, the leather in his gloved hand and gauntlets flexing with a little wheeze. The other arm wound around her protectively as he urged the hart ahead with a click of his tongue. The great antlered beast let out a sharp cry, high-pitched and piercing, then surged ahead, sharp hooves clapping on the smooth stone. The harness jangled with its rhythmic bouncing stride and Ellana groaned, clenching her jaw and abdominal muscles.

"I can't wait much longer," she muttered under her breath.

Solas chuckled. "Did I not warn you that you should have gone when we passed the—"

"It was a crop field," she grumbled, thumping her head back against his chest. "You really wanted me to squat in full view of everyone with us?"

Despite the tension she could still feel radiating from him as the Templars filed after them into the city's fairly narrow street, Solas leaned his head to speak into her ear through the fabric of her cloak. "I could have used a wall of ice to shield you."

She sighed. "Fine. You're right." Eyeing the gutters lining the streets behind the masked Orlesian guards, she smirked. "Think you could manage that now and not get us all killed by Templars?"

"No," he answered. "However, I will insist on that chamber pot for you as soon as we reach the palace."

She groaned, remembering the fountain. "I'm going to piss myself if I hear that damned fountain."

"Suledin, vhenan," he said, velvety voice making her shiver—though she immediately winced, regretting it as her bladder _hurt_ from the little contraction.

They passed through the city and up through the hilly countryside following the winding road that led to the palace gates. Beyond the gates they found themselves in a wide space with pale stones and grass before the familiar courtyard where they and their companions had lingered during the course of the Exalted Council. Pages emerged to hold the reins of their hart and Solas dismounted smoothly, then reached for Ellana, guiding her down gently. She hissed with the jostling to her bladder and tried to cross one leg over the other, as if she could physically dam off the flow of urine just waiting to be unleashed.

A few of the other elves in their entourage looked at her with knowing smirks as they entered through the gates after them. One of them, a woman astride a large halla buck laden with supplies, quickly leapt from her mount and began fishing through her packs. Solas was already striding to her, ignoring the confused page and bemused expressions of other palace staff. The Dalish woman produced a refuse bucket and passed it quickly to Solas while Ellana stared at them, teeth gnashing as she waited. The sound of the water tinkling in the nearby fountain made her groan.

When Solas returned he took her hand, squeezing, and addressed the page, "May we step away for a moment?" He motioned toward a half-closed gate beyond the courtyard where the tavern and balcony overlook waited. Ellana tried not to squirm, too uncomfortable now to be embarrassed.

The page blinked and then stammered. "Uh…"

"Kaffas," Dorian said with a scoff, coming around from where another page had grabbed the reins of his horse and begun escorting it toward the stables. "The word you're looking for is _yes,_ boy. Unless you want her to piddle in front of you."

The page's cheeks reddened and he averted his gaze. "Yes—I mean, no, sir. The gate's unlocked and you're free to—"

Ellana and Solas had already begun walking for the gate. She kept her head lowered, shoulders hunched, as if she could sink into the ground to hide. Her face burned all the way to her ears. Thankfully she had the cloak and its fur lined hood to hide her mortification. She reached for the empty magic core inside her and winced, missing it. If she'd been able to touch the Fade here she could have surged ahead with Fade step.

"Suledin, vhenan," Solas reassured her with a hum. "Suledin."

On the other side of the gate, with a wall separating them from the Templars, the Inquisition, and their own entourage of elves, Ellana finally had just enough privacy to relieve herself. There were servants and other guards scattered about this area too, but none in the immediate area around the corner from the gate, and Solas stood over her, watchful and protective. When it was finished Ellana let out a breath, shaky with relief, and tried to quash her embarrassment as Solas upended the contents of the bucket into a nearby potted plant.

"I can't believe that just happened," she grumbled, groaning and scrubbing at her face. "I don't think I'll ever be able to stop blushing."

Carrying the now empty bucket, Solas returned to her side, his lips curling in a small, gentle smile. His eyes, barely visible beneath the shadow of the headdress, glinted. Laying a hand over her shoulder, he leaned as close as their differing headgear allowed and said, "Let them lay the blame on me, vhenan." The hand on her shoulder drifted down to rest on her belly. "I am the one responsible for your condition."

"Are you sure?" she asked, grinning at the pride she saw glowing in his features. "It might be safer if we pretend it's Cullen's."

He laughed quickly, then pressed a kiss to her lips, heedless of the mashing of his headdress against her hood. Then, sobering, he straightened and said, "We must return before they grow suspicious."

They reentered the courtyard, moving faster now that Ellana could walk—or waddle rather—at full speed. The servants and other palace staff had removed many of the horses, harts, and halla, as well as escorting away less important personnel. Now only the dedicated bodyguards, political leaders, and ambassadors remained with but a smattering of trusted servants. The Dalish woman who'd given Solas the bucket reclaimed it now without even blushing, much to Ellana's chagrin.

Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra waited at the foot of the grand staircase leading up to the palace proper, the Templars on either side of them. A few steps up Ellana saw Briala staring at her, wearing a black mask that gleamed like lacquer and a thick green cloak similar to Ellana's own. There was a good reason for such a similarity—Ellana's cloak had been stolen from a villa they conquered in the Emerald Graves a few weeks back. Designed for a bulkier human matron, it had more than enough fabric to close over Ellana's burgeoning front.

"Welcome," Briala called to them, raising both hands. "I am here on behalf of her royal majesty, Empress Celene. It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Lavellan." She paused, head turning slightly to take in Solas. "And you must be the one the Dalish name Fen'Harel—but we have met before, have we not?"

"In passing," Solas replied. He did not tip his head to her or show any signs of overt respect other than the even, calm tone he used. "However, we are all one people, Marquise Briala. I would be known to all of them."

The Marquise hesitated, lips parted slightly as if surprised. Then she said, "We hope you have come ready to end this foolish strife in the Emerald Graves."

"And we hope you have minds open to hear us," Solas retorted, a slight edge of annoyance under his voice.

"The Empress remembers she owes Lady Lavellan a great debt," Briala said, deftly ignoring Solas' comment. "As do I." She nodded meaningfully and smiled at Ellana. "But we will have peace, whatever the cost."

Ellana gave a perfunctory bow—only to stop partway as her stomach seemed to crush her lungs. Cringing, she tried to hide the aborted bow and said, "I understand, Lady Marquise."

"Until the ball then," Briala said with a cordial smile as she turned on her heel and strode back up the stairway.

"Another bloody ball," Cullen snarled to himself, glaring down at the ground and Ellana felt herself grinning, suppressing the nervous laughter that threatened to burst from her. She saw both Cassandra and Leliana watching her, wary and sorrowful expressions etched in their faces.

She felt something similar—a longing to cross the social gap between them and embrace her old friends and advisors—but now was not the time. She'd become _other_ to them again, just as she was before the conclave. Outside of the winter palace and Halamshiral, Ellana suspected there were still wanted posters nailed up in most sizable taverns, calling for their immediate arrest. And aside from that troubling detail she couldn't stop remembering that Cassandra had ordered Solas' arrest and Leliana had threatened to send him off to a Circle.

Three Templars stepped away from their positions and one of them called to Ellana, Solas, and their companions. "Please follow us to the guest wing."

* * *

In what Solas realized must be typical for Orlesian peace talks, they soon found themselves relegated to a balcony—the very same one that'd held the seething Gaspard. Lyris and Mathrel accompanied them as bodyguards, lingering near the doors to the balcony with their hands clasped behind their backs and wearing full armor. Ellana sat on the railing lining the balcony, staring out at the Frostbacks, currently blanketed in the white of snow while Solas stood near her, tense and alert for danger. The night was dark, though a bright full moon peeked between the thinner strands of clouds.

A brisk wind whipped at her cloak and at Solas' headdress, which had already made uncountable Orlesians cringe and sneer with revulsion at the savage elf in their midst. It was amusing again to realize that what made him so unpopular in the modern world had only inflamed the passions of Arlathan's nobility, where raw nature was always in fashion.

Early in the evening they had a procession of visitors while the Empress seemed content to make them wait. One of their first surprise visits was Vivienne, who descended on them clad in her usual finery, the horned hat glinting in the light of the brazier that burned on the balcony for warmth as much as light. She went straight to Ellana, studiously ignoring him as she exclaimed, "Darling! Look at you! What a lovely cloak, but…" She tutted as if with concern or disappointment. "You're about to burst, I should think."

Ellana's expression looked more weary than anything else as she eyed the other woman. "Hello, Vivienne."

"Good evening, Enchanter," Solas said, letting his voice stay low, more of a growl than his usual friendly timbre. "Have you come to wish us well in the negotiations, or merely to prattle about Ellana's condition? If it is the latter, you should know that we have heard it all before and you do yourself no favors with your lack of originality."

Vivienne pivoted slightly to regard him, one eyebrow arched as she took in his headdress and armor. "Apostate," she said, not even bothering to use his name. "I hear you've been very busy in the Emerald Graves and the elves have given you some sort of new title. Dread Wolf, is it? Sadly the only thing about you that inspires dread, as usual, is your choice of attire."

He flashed his teeth in a quick, hard smile. "Indeed. The wolf rarely appears threatening to those who lack the wisdom to recognize the power of its bite."

Vivienne flashed her own cold, cruel smile. "How fortunate for me then, my dear, that this particular wolf is toothless."

Ellana scoffed, drawing both of them into turning their heads to stare at her as she rolled her eyes. "Really, I've heard enough useless bickering." She puffed, wincing with what Solas took to be pain and immediately his stomach clenched.

Forgetting about Vivienne entirely, Solas knelt to be closer to her. "Vhenan? Are you in pain?"

She gritted her teeth and then heaved a long sigh, shoulders hunching. One hand lay curled over her belly, fingers splayed. "Just a sharp cramp. It's already passing."

"False labor pains, my dear," Vivienne put in, sounding surprisingly genuine. "Probably nothing to be alarmed about."

Solas shot her a look of raw surprise, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as he contemplated the enchanter with renewed interest and…something akin to pity. The softness in Vivienne's eyes and the knowing tone of her voice when she'd spoken all suggested an intimate familiarity with the subject at hand. Solas clenched his jaw, refusing to ask the question burning on his tongue, but Ellana had no such reservations.

"Vivienne," she said, her expression creasing with confusion. "Have you had a child?"

The enchanter's lips puckered a moment before she changed her stance, placing one hand on her hip. "Years ago, my dear. It was quite the scandal, but mostly forgotten now."

"I had no idea you were a mother," Ellana said, a note of shock in her voice. "Do you have a son or daughter?"

"A daughter," Vivienne replied with a sniff, glancing at her nails as if they were more interesting than the conversation. "But it's hardly—"

"Your Circle took your daughter," Solas said, snarling as rage boiled his blood. "You were forbidden to raise her, enslaved in your tower." He growled. "How could you possibly still remain loyal to the Circles after they demanded and carried out such an unforgiveable crime against you?"

Something like pain flashed in Vivienne's eyes before she blinked and shook her head. "I did not have the arrogance to assume I knew what was best in raising her," she answered, icy and aloof. "But she is doing well in her Circle and I am allowed visits to—"

"You truly expect me to believe you did not wish to raise her?" Solas demanded, lip curling with outrage on behalf of every mage, regardless of race, trapped in the Circles, abused and enslaved. "Tell me, do you know her at all? Her favorite color? Her favorite story? What could possibly be dangerous in letting you know your own child?" He paused, breathing hard, struggling to control his own fury. "You have been caged so long you have deluded yourself into seeing the tortures inflicted upon you as gifts. I pity you."

The anger in Vivienne's eyes held something deeper, cutting and raw. "And I _loathe_ you," she snarled and turned on her heel, leaving the balcony. The sound of her heels clopping on the marble floor echoed inside Solas' ears.

"Well," Ellana said, her voice tight. "I certainly wasn't expecting that."

Solas hummed in the back of his throat. "Neither was I." Blinking, he searched over Ellana's form quickly, seeing she had relaxed again. "Are you feeling better?"

She smiled at him, her gaze soft and warm with affection. "I'm fine, emma lath." Then her eyes slid from him and simultaneously Solas heard the thump of footsteps approaching through the open balcony doors. The tread struck a familiar chord within him and although he sensed Lyris and Mathrel tense, he already felt a small smile curling his lips as he faced their new visitor, craning his neck downward as Varric Tethras appeared.

"Ellana!" the dwarf said, throwing his arms out wide in greeting. "Chuckles!"

"Varric," Ellana returned, grinning.

She started to stand up but Varric immediately gestured for her to stop. "Don't get up on my account, I'm serious." Shooting Solas a glance that was equal parts censure and playfulness, he said, "Chuckles, didn't anyone ever tell you expectant mothers are supposed to _relax_ when they're this far along?"

Ellana rolled her eyes. "I still have months to go," she said. Solas exchanged a knowing look with her, a half-smile tugging one corner of his lips. All of their visitors had been convinced Ellana was about to go into labor any second. It was true that on her otherwise dainty frame the pregnancy was startlingly obvious now that she was nearing the final weeks, but the Dalish healers who'd examined her in the Emerald Graves had pronounced the pregnancy healthy and weeks yet from delivery.

"Sorry," Varric said, rubbing at the back of his neck, sheepish. "I'm guessing you get that a lot, don't you?"

"Constantly," Solas said with a sigh.

Varric frowned at him a second and then cocked his head, whistling. "That's some getup you've got there. I heard fur's in fashion in Val Royeaux, but somehow I don't think that's what they had in mind." He grunted, brushing at the scruff on his chin with one hand. "So…Dread Wolf, huh? I always knew there was something more to you, but I'd have never guessed that."

Solas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the reminder of how long he'd carried on the deception but unable to escape it. He tucked his hands behind his back and tried to be lighthearted. "If you would prefer, you can continue calling me _chuckles."_

The dwarf guffawed. "That was never going to change. Tethras nicknames are for life, you know."

"Did you come for the peace talks?" Ellana asked, scooting slightly on the railing to be closer. "Or…"

Varric laughed. "I'm here because Empress Celene and her court are all fans of _Hard In Hightown._ I make more money here peddling that book than I ever did letting my publisher do the work for me." He crossed his beefy arms over his equally broad chest. Even here at court he'd worn a shirt with a V-neck collar to expose some of his chest hair. "Bastards must've been conning me for years. Laughing all the way to the bank, too, I'd bet."

The moment the word _bet_ crossed Varric's lips, Solas knew exactly what the dwarf would say next and immediately felt his ears begin burning with humiliation under his headdress. Varric was inevitably here to try and make them place wagers on their own child's sex. Yet there was nothing he could do or say to stop it and, seeing the way Ellana grinned, bright with affection and amusement, he resolved to tolerate whatever came next.

"Speaking of betting," Varric exclaimed, clapping his enormous hands together and rubbing them. "The odds are even again on that baby of yours. Neck and neck." He waggled his eyebrows, looking between them. "I heard a rumor from Dorian that the mother-to-be thinks it's a boy. Care to put your money where your mouth is, Lady Lavellan?"

She chuckled but said, "No, Varric. I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to break the tie."

"Damn," Varric muttered with a disappointed shake of his head. "Are you sure I can't convince you? I mean, I only gave you a key to the city and an estate." He grinned at her frown. "It's not like you owe me or anything."

Solas crossed his arms over his chest, glaring. "She does not, in fact, owe you."

Varric raised both hands in a placating motion aimed at Solas. "Fine, fine. You're right. Sheesh, Chuckles." Sighing, Varric's expression softened, growing wistful with a touch of dark melancholy in his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at the steady tread of another approaching visitor to the balcony. "Looks like I'm about to be chased off, but it was good to catch up with you, Ellana." He nodded at her and then, more somberly, to Solas. "I don't know what you're up to, Chuckles, but I hope you keep it out of Kirkwall. We've got enough troubles of our own."

Solas pinched his lips together, staying silent as the dwarf turned away, walking in his usual confident swagger. He paused to give a deep bow from the waist with a sweeping motion of one arm as he crossed paths with Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana stepping in from the ballroom. "Holiness," he said, addressing Cassandra with a sly smile. "Always a pleasure. Did you enjoy the latest chapter of _Swords and Shields?"_

Caught in the doorway, Cassandra hesitated, eyes flicking toward Solas and Ellana and then to Varric as her cheeks reddened. "Yes, Varric, but…" She huffed with frustration, stammering. "Perhaps we can speak later?"

"Of course," the dwarf said, beaming. "Anything for a fan."

The Inquisition power trio strode onto the balcony then, all clothed in formalwear. For Cassandra that meant the robes of the Divine, including the ridiculous hat, but though she dressed like a Chantry sister she still moved with the militant bearing of a warrior. Solas thought of Lyris and glanced briefly across the balcony to where his warriors stood, eyes following these newcomers with tension riding in their shoulders. Solas noted the sword at Cullen's waist and, feeling his own spine stiffen, he reached inward for his magic, finding it abundant and energetic despite the Veil.

"Ellana," Cassandra said, the name emerging a little strangled on her lips. "It is good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Seeing the storm of emotions on Ellana's face as the silence dragged on, Solas sidestepped to be within arm's reach of her and laid a hand over her shoulder. Reaching up to grip his hand in hers, Ellana returned the gesture, seeming to draw strength from it as he'd hoped. She sighed. "It is good to see you all as well."

All three sets of eyes shifted then toward Solas, each with varying degrees of hostility. It was Cassandra, as Solas expected, who spoke for them. "And you—what exactly do we call you now?"

He smiled, hard and dry, settling into the persona of the conqueror and rebel, quashing any regrets the gentler Solas carried. "For the sake of these negotiations," he told them, letting his voice drop lower, more menacing but still natural. "I am Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf."

Leliana wore a humorless half-smile on her lips and Cullen scowled his disapproval. Cassandra's eyes narrowed and her brow knit as she fought back a full-fledged snarl. "So we have heard," she said.

Additional movement and the steady tread of more people drew Solas' gaze to the entrance of the balcony. Briala, Dorian, and Empress Celene herself appeared, their clothing rustling and shoes tapping over the marbled floor.

"Ah," Dorian said, smirking as he looked over the assembled group and casually twisted his mustache with one hand. "Everyone's finally here. Now we can get going with some coy insults and thinly veiled threats. Excellent." He clapped his hands together. "Who wants to start?"

* * *

Negotiations ended without progress, exactly as Solas had expected. Celene had let Briala do most of the talking for her, and Cassandra had chimed in with the occasional comment that stopped just short of pleading with him and Ellana to "see reason." They sought clarification and confirmation of stories they'd heard about the Emerald Graves—that the Fade had been somehow overlaid upon reality, that elven mages had come out of the wilds wielding terrifyingly powerful magic, led by an elven trickster god who could reshape the very earth itself with a wave of his hands.

Solas and Ellana offered little hard facts, choosing to hide how they'd restored the Fade and why. When the Orlesians, the Divine, and the Inquisition all dismissed the threat of the "elven uprising," Solas declared the talks over for the night. He'd learned from his time serving as a general for Mythal that negotiations like these were a dance, a game as much as anything else in politics. Stalling and taking charge weakened an opponent's confidence, so that was what he did. Let the Empress and Cassandra and Leliana all stew over how little they knew and how _confident_ he was. They'd remember that in five weeks Solas had claimed miles of forest for the People, nearly the entirety of the Emerald Graves in fact. They'd reexamine the wild stories from human refugees who'd witnessed Solas conjure water from the air or raise stone walls out of mud. Tomorrow they may suddenly be more amenable to making concessions.

But Solas doubted it. This was a charade—a farce that he played only to make Ellana happy. The humans would either turn on them in the hopes of killing them in Halamshiral, or they'd adjourn the negotiations unconcluded. The humans would hope to convince Solas into signing a nonaggression treaty at best, but he would refuse because he had no plans of honoring such a thing. If they did not _give_ him what he sought, Solas would simply _take_ it. He knew Ellana hoped for peace through the talks, through diplomacy, but to Solas that was about as useful as trying to calm a rage demon.

The room they'd been provided was sumptuous and enormous, beautiful with its gold trim and gilded paneling. After countless weeks in the cold and wilderness, even Solas could appreciate the sight of the tub their room included. They'd taken several small villages, as well as numerous Orlesian villas as they swept through the Emerald Graves, mostly without casualties on either side. Of course, when they _had_ taken casualties it was gruesome and ended poorly for the humans. Yet they could never stay more than a night or even a few hours in one spot before venturing back out, expanding the Fade-restored areas, plotting their next move, scouting forward positions, or simply teaching newly arrived elven rogues and warriors who required some rudimentary magical training to be safe.

But unlike those villas and the wilds of the Emerald Graves, Solas knew they weren't free here. It was more than the lack of the Fade, which he'd begun to miss with a physical longing akin to hunger; it was the constant oppressiveness of hostility and disapproval in the air. The tension and fear of the humans who'd heard terrified tales from fleeing natives of the Emerald Graves left Solas twitchy with anxiety, certain of an impending attack from _somewhere._

One of the biggest reasons he'd not seriously considered this plan of Ellana's—or Mythal's more likely—was because of how _visible_ it was. Solas knew from long experience that working from the shadows was the best and safest way to accomplish anything. Let the world see the puppets and their strings as they dance, but never the puppeteer controlling them. Retaking the Dales, forcibly carving out an elven homeland to leave space for humans and the other races of Thedas to remain existing with the Veil in place, was foolhardy because _everyone_ would see the masterminds behind it.

Well, they'd see Fen'Harel and Ellana, anyway—not Mythal.

 _Well played again,_ he thought as he watched servants haul in buckets of water so hot it was still steaming inside the wooden buckets. Ellana had called immediately for a bath after the ball, determined to enjoy this chance to be clean with hot water. Solas had every bucket tested by a city elf apothecary he'd brought with them from the Emerald Graves. He watched as she tested each bucket by pipetting a sample into her glass vial and dropping in a blue reagent to search for taint.

When the water passed the apothecary's tests, Solas dismissed her and the maids and finally let Ellana bathe. Although her moan of enjoyment as she slid into the clean, hot water made the heat of desire uncurl and spread through his belly, Solas refused to let his guard down and join her. When it was his turn he bathed quickly and didn't linger, refusing to be vulnerable should an attack come.

Ellana was already dozing, exhausted by the long day and the stress of the negotiations and the ball. Solas laid out wards around the room at every window, along the walls, and on the door itself. In the hall outside he knew there were four Templars standing watch on the area while he had Lyris, Mathrel, and several Dalish Firsts alternate on guard duty over the supplies and people they'd brought. He worked as quietly as he could to secure the room, always checking on Ellana to make sure the magic he used wasn't disturbing her slumber.

When a rap on the door came Solas snarled, his heart suddenly pounding with the loudness of the sound. The palace had settled into near-silence except for the ever-present padding of servants traipsing past in the hallway outside and overhead somewhere. It was late for a visitor and Solas was tense as he went to the door, hesitating before he deactivated the ward he'd set there with a wave of his hand.

"Who is it?" he called, his voice quiet. He stared at the bed, watching for any signs of wakefulness in Ellana, but he saw none.

"It's Lyris," a deep but still feminine voice replied. "I must speak with you."

Scowling, Solas opened the door and found Lyris dressed in only a thick brocade shift. Blinking with surprise, Solas raised both eyebrows. "What is it?" Then, aware of the Templars positioned around the hallway that were out of sight but undoubtedly listening to them, he switched to elven. "Dirthera." _Tell._

" _Abelas asked me to remove his vallaslin,"_ Lyris told him, hushed despite the fact she used elven.

Solas' brow knit a moment and then, failing to comprehend her, he shook his head. _"What?"_

" _After the peace talks. He came to me and asked that I remove his vallaslin. I could see no reason not to do so. When I asked why he desired this…"_ She shrugged. _"He would not explain."_

 _It must be a trick,_ Solas thought as he stared, baffled by Lyris' news. Abelas must have been ordered to do this by Mythal, to claim he'd grown tired of being her puppet and wanted to switch allegiance. Solas considered the possibility a moment and then snorted, curling his lip with disgust. "Felasil," he muttered and then, at Lyris' speculative look he clarified. "Abelas. _If he and Mythal hope to deceive us this way they are both_ felasilen." Pausing a moment, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. "Ma serannas, falon."

She clasped his hand with her own and smiled. "Fen'Harel enansal." Stepping backward, she smiled. "Sleep well, falon, while you can. Soon your nights will be ringing with your little one's cries." She smirked. "Da'Fen." _Little Wolf._

He chuckled. "Goodnight, Lyris."

He closed the door as the sound of her footsteps, so light they were almost imperceptible now that she was out of her armor, faded away. Several long minutes passed as he stared unseeingly, his thoughts slow and boggled by Lyris' news. Why would Abelas remove his vallaslin? The only answer he could believe was that the sentinel hoped to gain his trust to fulfill Mythal's machinations. Yet surely they'd know he wouldn't be so easily deceived…

Shrugging off the thoughts for now, Solas locked the door and warded it against intrusion, then finally went to bed.

* * *

 **Elven used: _Felasil/Felasilen:_ ** _slow-witted, idiot. (Taken from FenXShiral's Project Elvhen)_

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

She had just finished when she heard Lyris speak outside in a threatening growl. "What are _you_ doing here?"

A second later a familiar female voice replied, "Her majesty invited me. She seeks to learn more of her latest opponent in the great Game. Why wouldn't I attend at her summons?"

_Morrigan._


	31. The Assassins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trio of assassins make an attempt on Solas and Ellana's lives. But who sent them? Morrigan/Mythal reappears for a little powwow with Ellana.

"Concentrate," Solas said as he strode behind Mahanon, his feet splashing through the dark, oily puddles of the raw Fade. Dream though it was, the sensations were real, leaving his legs wet and slick with Fade ether.

Ellana's brother had his back to Solas, staring at the transformed landscape ahead of them in the raw Fade. It was the Emerald Graves in winter, the enormous trees barren of leaves and a thin layer of crusty snow over the forest floor. Mahanon had brought his surroundings into the Fade when he slept, unconsciously shaping it as all dreamers do. Yet, because he was also a weak Dreamer mage, Mahanon would be able to change this initial dreamscape. But Mahanon always struggled with it more than Ellana did.

It seemed the siblings' talents manifested in opposites from each other. Ellana found manipulating the Fade in her sleep easy and could dip in and out of others' dreams with increasing skill, but when Solas had tried to teach her to alter reality she'd found it nearly impossible. Mahanon, meanwhile, struggled to master the Fade in his sleep but had quickly taken to reshaping reality. As a result Solas had begun grooming the young Dalish man to become a general. Unfortunately, to be truly great Mahanon needed to be able to reach out through the Fade to find Solas in the night, if he had need. So far that'd proven a stumbling block.

Mahanon sighed, shaking his head. The forest in front of him remained static, unchanged. "It's not coming, hahren."

"You can do this, falon," Solas said, using the term of endearment with real warmth in his voice as he continued pacing. "The power lies within you. Visualize the changes you would make. See them in your mind and reach out into the Fade with your will."

Mahanon glanced at Solas over his shoulder, a small warm smile curling his lips. "How is Lana?" he asked.

Clucking his tongue, Solas motioned toward the forest. "You are too easily distracted. We are not here to discuss Ellana."

"Lessons can wait until my mind is settled," Mahanon said, turning his back on the forest to face Solas. "I'm too worried about her to do anything useful right now."

Now Solas chuckled. "She is safe. I am taking every precaution to ensure she remains so."

"I wish you would've let me go with you," Mahanon grumbled, frowning. "I could—"

"You are of far greater use leading the People in the Emerald Graves than you would be in Halamshiral," Solas interrupted Mahanon, his voice gentle despite the slight tone of command within it. "There are few with skills such as yours and we cannot spare them for distractions like these foolish peace talks."

"Foolish?" Mahanon echoed, arching an eyebrow. "Lana thinks there's hope they could work."

Solas kept his expression neutral. "So far there has been no sign that the humans will yield." Squaring his shoulders, he nodded at Mahanon. "That is why I left you behind. I do not trust they will not launch an attack now that the winter snows have subsided." He didn't add—and never would—that the humans might have more cause to attack than Mahanon knew as Solas had ordered Var and other loyal generals to lead city elves in supply raids using the eluvians. Not to mention the ongoing chaos he had Zevanni stirring in Tevinter.

Mahanon clenched his jaw, sobering. "I understand." Then, pausing a moment, he eyed Solas with a glint of amusement brightening his gaze. "My Keeper told me she sent a special gift that you requested for Lana with you. When do you intend on giving it to her?"

"Ah," Solas said with a mock-frown. "Now I understand your poor performance, da'len. You are distracted with gossip from your clan. Must I forbid you from such diversions?"

With the Emerald Graves somewhat secure, Solas had welcomed an increasing number of Dalish clans into the area, including almost all of clan Lavellan, which came through the eluvian he'd gotten to them a few weeks back. Their Keeper had passed off what control she had of Wycome to the city elf leaders, which had been a timely decision on her part as the news of Fen'Harel's rebellion had inspired increasing hostility from humans toward the clan and elves as a whole in the Free Marches.

Recognizing that Solas wasn't serious, Mahanon grinned. "You could try, hahren, but Rinaya's wrath is a thing few have the courage to risk. My bondmate will not hesitate to skin you like a hare and make the pelt into a blanket for our daughter."

Solas laughed, surprising himself with the force of it. As he caught his breath, still smiling with the good humor, he said, "Well then, I suppose I can be lenient, considering that my life is at stake."

"A wise decision, hahren," Mahanon quipped seriously. Smirking, he added, "But you never answered my question about the betrothal gift. Deshanna made our crafters remake it _twice_ before she found it worthy. She won't rest until she hears it has served its purpose."

Still smiling, Solas chuckled again. "And neither will you, evidently."

He'd discussed formally committing to Ellana in a bonding ceremony with the Keeper, learning what their clan usually did for such events when they'd stayed with clan Lavellan in the fall. He'd commissioned a specific bow for Ellana then to fulfill the betrothal gift portion of the clan's tradition and paid for its crafting by sharing dozens of spells Deshanna didn't know. Solas had hoped to pledge himself to Ellana weeks ago, as soon as he finished with the Forgotten Ones, but the campaign in the Emerald Graves had taken over everything else. It seemed now that the Keeper and Mahanon had both tired of waiting on him.

"Well?" Mahanon held his arms out in an expectant gesture.

Solas opened his mouth to reply but then shuddered, staggering as cold assaulted him, biting and breathtaking. _The wards,_ he realized. Gasping, he saw Mahanon's face warp with shock and worry. The younger elf leapt for him, reaching out to comfort. "Lethallin!"

"I must wake," he said and then, closing his eyes, willed the Fade away. Mahanon's hands passed through him, a scalding warmth that faded away into nothing.

Solas sprang upright, eyes opening into darkness. The chill from his wards still froze his blood, making him grit his teeth together to keep them from chattering. One hand shot out to the left, feeling Ellana's warm body, asleep. In the same instant he saw the golden light shining, faint and dim, on the far window where someone or something had opened it and disrupted the ward, setting off the ice spell trap. Solas had included runes in the spell to ensure it woke him when it triggered, causing some feedback cold to flow into him. Yet there was nothing obviously wrong in the room…

He heard muffled cursing, shivering as someone reacted to the ice spell. Focusing on the sound, Solas cast a single veilfire orb and sent it flying away. The extra light immediately illuminated the black figure perched on the window, clutching it.

Heart pounding, Solas Fade stepped from the bed even before he was completely on his feet. He popped out of it within arm's length of the window and then, with a pushing motion using both fists, used a wave of spiritual energy to blast the intruder backward. The man shrieked as he fell out of the window, careening two stories down to the courtyard below.

Solas was about to teleport down to capture the man when the window to his right, closer to the bed, drew his attention. A split-second later he saw another figure in black force that window open, setting off another ward. Solas shivered as the ice spell crawled through his veins, but the attacker stiffened, frost spreading over his clothes. He gripped the window with hands that were as pale as the white walls.

"Fool," Solas snarled and his eyes flared purple as he reached for his mana core, pulling the energy for the more significant spell. The would-be assassin turned into stone, frozen permanently in the open window. With a flourish, Solas used a veilstrike to knock the statue backward with a resounding _bang._

Ellana shouted his name, her voice thick from sleep. "Solas!?"

Before he could answer a third attacker appeared, this time through the window closest to the bed. Ellana let out a shriek of surprise as the window swung wide with a creak of little-used hinges, letting in a waft of cold nighttime air. The ward activated, freezing the assassin and Solas Fade stepped to close the distance and petrified him as well. In only a few heartbeats all three assassins had been dispatched.

Recalling the man he'd left alive, Solas Fade stepped to the farthest window and surged through it in a cloaking cloud of purple-black. He rematerialized in the courtyard where the sole surviving assassin lay on his back, groaning from the impact, stunned and likely wounded. Solas glanced up at the palace wall behind him, seeing three black ropes along the wall that the men had used to abseil down to their room from the roof. There was no sign of anyone else on the roof.

Relaxing slightly, Solas surveyed the courtyard and, seeing it was deserted except for himself, the writhing assassin, and the two shattered statues nearby, he tucked his arms behind his back and regarded the wounded man. "Who hired you?"

The assassin spluttered, cursing in heavily accented Common. He was Antivan by the accent. Perhaps one of the Crows? The only word Solas made out clearly was, "Demon."

"Who hired you?" Solas repeated, stalking closer. The chilly night air made him shiver, realizing vaguely that he wore only his thin tunic and leggings.

"Fuck off," the man snarled and laughed, but the noise held a note of hysteria. He was shaking, but probably not from the cold.

"Was it the Empress?" Solas asked, letting his hands return to his sides. "Or perhaps the Divine?" Wriggling his fingers, he considered his next move and cut a quick glance at the three open windows of their room to see Ellana leaning out, watching him with an anxious look on her face. A greenish light glowed from her left hand on the pale windowsill and his stomach clenched seeing it. His magic had awakened the Anchor, though currently she didn't appear as though it caused her pain.

The assassin refused to answer. Solas assessed his dark clothing and frame, determining he was human rather than elven. What little skin he could see in the bleak darkness of the night revealed the man had a slightly darker pigmentation. That suggested an Antivan background again. "Are you with the Crows?" Solas asked.

The assassin hawked and spat at him, the wad of spittle falling far short. "Said fuck off, knife-ear."

Solas scowled as he resigned himself to what he must do next. Raising his right hand, he reached into his core, coiling magic in his fist in a continuous slow feed. When he opened the fist, flinging the magic in the form of spiritual energy, he willed it to cause pain. The greenish energy engulfed the man as hungrily as fire and immediately he choked, gurgling as his eyes bugged open wide. Then, chest heaving, he screamed and began thrashing. Solas kept the magic flowing as he edged closer, kneeling to snatch the assassin's mask away from his other hand. He tossed the bit of black fabric aside, scrutinizing the man's face as it contorted and wrenched with agony.

Closing his fist again, Solas spoke in a hard, cold voice, "Who hired you?"

The man panted, teeth gritted and body quivering. He remained silent.

"Very well," Solas said and let the magic flow again.

The assassin screamed, high-pitched and bloodcurdling. The pitiful sounds rang out over the courtyard, bouncing from the walls of the palace and the smaller buildings and structures in the gardens. Solas looked again to Ellana and saw she'd clapped her right hand over her mouth, likely appalled. Ignoring her, Solas continued the torture for several more seconds before clenching his fist and repeating his question, gruffer now. "Your employers. Tell me and I will end your pain."

Distantly Solas heard shouting. The assassin's screams had been too loud for guards and other personnel to miss. _I'm running out of time,_ he thought.

The assassin spluttered, spitting and struggling to breathe. Blood flecked his lips and was starting to dribble from his nose. "Eh…." he said, but Solas couldn't make it out through the man's slurring. "Eh…"

"Speak up," he commanded, raising his right hand, using it as a silent threat. "Who hired you?"

The clattering of armored guards' footsteps grew steadily louder until abruptly Solas saw three Orlesian guards and one Inquisition sentry round the side of the palace. All four drew their weapons and one of the Orlesians shouted, "Halt! What's going on here?"

 _Fenedhis,_ Solas thought with a snarl. With a flick of his right hand he drew a burst of mana and shaped it into fire, willing it at the assassin with a flick of his hand. The man shrieked as the fire engulfed him, but the cries quickly stopped. The flash fire consumed him so quickly it left little except ash and the stink of burnt protein and hair. The guards charged forward, roaring in outrage and demanding he stand down, but Solas waved his other arm, casually using a veilstrike to knock all four men flat onto their faces.

"Enough," he said, growling. "Calm yourselves."

One of the guards, recovering before the others, struggled to right himself and speak, asking, "What is the meaning of this? Who are—"

"I am Fen'Harel," he cut the man off, stalking a few steps away toward the palace wall. "And I have executed an assassin—three of them, actually. Do not try my patience further."

"By the void," the Inquisition sentry muttered, wide-eyed and breathless. "Fen'Harel." The sentry was on his feet and running away a moment later, doubtless going to report to Leliana.

The three Orlesians recovered more slowly and stood tense, watching him from behind their glittering silver masks. Solas eyed the window above him and then, deciding against teleporting for fear it'd set off the Anchor, he marched past the guards, hands clenched at his sides. They turned with him, likely considering making a move to arrest him, but even they understood who he was and that both the Empress and the Divine had decreed he was diplomatically immune during the peace talks.

The assassin's slurred single syllable rang out inside Solas' mind: _Eh._ Had he been about to name Empress Celene, using her title? Or was it the Inquisition?

 _Fools,_ he raged, his heart pounding and sweat beading on his brow despite the chilliness of the nighttime air. _Shem fools._

* * *

"We reject these odious claims as baseless and unwarranted," Celene said, her voice nasally and deep. She kept her head tilted back, literally looking down her nose at Ellana and Solas. "The guards and the Inquisition sentry report no evidence of an attack on you."

"Yes," Solas snarled. "I suppose you would find no evidence if you yourself had hired them. It's also very convenient of you to ignore the ropes left outside our room that the assassins used to abseil from the roof."

They sat in the same pavilion that the Exalted Council had taken place in, but now the space had been renovated for winter to be enclosed. Braziers burned on the columns at the edges of the space, keeping the frigidness of the late winter air at bay and providing light inside the windowless area. A small number of seats had been laid out for dignitaries and other important guests who might be called upon for expertise or testimony. Many of those in attendance had come in Ellana and Solas' retinue, but there were other notable people—such as Leliana, Cullen, Varric, Vivienne, and Dorian—who were not.

The Empress, Briala, and Cassandra all sat at the long table at the head of the pavilion, elevated slightly over their two elven "guests," and currently glowering down at them. Ellana gazed toward the small doorway that led to the gardens outside where she knew a small tent had been erected to serve as a privy. They'd only been at the talks for half an hour and already her bladder was growing tight. It didn't help that she kept drinking from the water that'd been left at their table, trying to cool the fire of heartburn in her throat.

The reality of the attempt on their lives the night before still made her feel queasy. Which of them had sent the assassins? She looked between the Empress, Briala, and the Divine, lingering on Cassandra as she felt pain cut through her chest. Could Cassandra really have called for their deaths? Solas had insisted to her that anyone could be responsible. They had no friends here, no one whom they could trust.

But the unhappy pinch of Cassandra's expression—and the way her eyes looked soft at the edges as she stared back at Ellana—suggested otherwise. The news of their attack hadn't been a surprise to her, but she didn't look happy about it in the least. Though Ellana could already guess Solas' take on it: the Divine was just upset that her assassins had failed.

"It is our understanding that one of these supposed attackers remained alive when the palace guards found you," the empress said with a sniff. "The guards say he could have been taken for questioning, but you tortured and killed him instead."

Gasps rang out from behind Ellana and she felt heat spread over her cheeks. She'd been unable to watch Solas torture the assassin, choosing to withdraw into their room and cover her ears against his pitiful screams. It was a necessary evil, she told herself. Just as they'd inevitably had to spill human blood as they took the Emerald Graves. There were always some who resisted, who would fight despite the outcome.

"Savage," Briala added, voice ringing with contempt. "You do our people a great disservice with such behavior."

"Tell me something, Marquise Briala," Solas replied, the words clipped and cold. "When you find a snake in your home, threatening your family, do you kill it or do you endanger yourself by capturing it and releasing it elsewhere?"

"It is not the same," Briala insisted.

Solas' lips curled in a snarl. "And why is that? Because you proclaim it to be so? Regardless, I did what I did because I could not trust any of you to exact the truth from him, and I had no doubt that had I released him to you I would find myself facing him again. So, I did the world a small favor. Now there is one less snake." He shook his head, jostling the wolf headdress he wore. "I hardly see how my behavior is savage as you claim. I suppose you consider it less savage to invite us for peace negotiations while plotting our deaths?"

"You have no proof of these claims," the empress repeated.

Cassandra huffed. "Empress Celene is right," she said. "By your own hand, Solas, you have left no evidence of these attackers." She cut a glance toward the audience behind Ellana, likely at Leliana and Cullen. "But the Inquisition sentry did report there were three ropes dangling from the roof. I believe there was an attempt on your lives last night and I condemn it. We are here to negotiate an end to hostilities. There is no reason for—"

"We received no such reports," the empress interrupted her, frowning. "The Inquisition has served Orlais well in alliance, but we cannot help but to wonder if its connection with Lady Lavellan creates undo sympathy to these detestable claims."

Cassandra scoffed. "We can bring forward the sentry in question for his testimony if you insist, but the Inquisition serves the Chantry and myself and is led by Lady Nightingale. Lady Lavellan no longer has any connection with it."

Ellana winced despite herself before schooling her reaction and nodding in confirmation. "Most holy speaks the truth." She tapped a finger on the table, seeing the angry scowls from both Celene and Briala, and decided to try and defuse the situation with humor. "I am clearly in no condition to run down Inquisition sentries and coerce them into changing their reports in the dead of night. In fact, the only running I do lately is to the privy." She hauled herself upright. "Speaking of which—most holy, Marquise, your grace—please excuse me a few moments."

Only Cassandra answered her, saying, "Of course." The other two women, particularly the empress, shot her looks of disgust. Solas watched her rise from her seat and motioned behind their table to the audience, almost certainly signaling Lyris to accompany her. Ellana didn't wait for the warrior as she walked away from the table.

A few mean-spirited chuckles and whispers broke out behind her as she started for the door leading to the gardens. Ellana kept her head up, ignoring them. Lyris stepped up to her side, trotting quickly to reach her and keep pace. The warrior opened the door and strode out first, down the short stairs to the yellowed grass of the gardens, which had yet to green up after the recent thaw of snow. Some snow still lay in the corners, persevering despite the gradually increasing temperature as winter transitioned to spring. The decorative bushes scattered about were laden with ripening buds but had yet to bloom.

With Lyris standing watch, Ellana stepped into the tent that served as a privy and shut the flap behind her. The Orlesians had brought out a portable, enclosed bench with a hole cut into it. Inside would be a large chamber pot or bucket for catching excrement and the tent stank faintly of urine. She sighed, swallowing her disgust, and tried not to imagine Lyris or others outside overhearing the tinkling as she relieved herself.

She had just finished when she heard Lyris speak outside in a threatening growl. "What are _you_ doing here?"

A second later a familiar female voice replied, "Her majesty invited me. She seeks to learn more of her latest opponent in the great Game. Why wouldn't I attend at her summons?"

_Morrigan._

Scrambling to secure her coat and make herself as presentable as possible, Ellana left the tent and found herself standing several meters from the black-haired witch. Lyris was at Ellana's side, tensed and with her spectral blade hilt clutched in one fist, ready to use. The blond warrior glared daggers at the witch; her icy blue eyes promised violence if Morrigan took another step closer. Morrigan, for her part, looked clean and crisp, wearing a fashionably corseted dress with long sleeves and beaded embroidery. Her black hair gleamed even in the dimness of the overcast late winter day.

"Lady Lavellan," she said, smirking as she gave an exaggerated curtsy. "What a pleasant surprise meeting you here." Her golden eyes roved over Ellana, lingering on her pronounced belly. "I hope you and the little one are doing well?"

Ellana rubbed at her abdomen, unable to quite quash her self-consciousness. "Yes, we're doing well. It's good to see you. I had expected to meet you in the Emerald Graves…"

Morrigan tilted her head, smiling coyly. "Circumstances prevented me from meeting you as I promised, but I would never miss these peace negotiations and the chance to see you again in person."

"What circumstances?" Ellana asked with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest in the limited space between her belly and her breasts.

"You cannot trust her," Lyris hissed under her breath.

Morrigan shot the warrior a glare. "Such suspicious friends you have, Lady Lavellan." She cleared her throat. "I could not meet with you in the Emerald Graves as promised because `twas not safe for me. Fen'Harel followed you more quickly than I expected."

"Conniving bitch," Lyris snarled, advancing a step threateningly.

"Lyris," Ellana scolded with a frown. "Please. There's no need for that."

Lyris glared at the yellow-green grass underfoot, her cheeks mottled red with her rage. Her right fist still clutched the hilt of her spectral blade, but her posture eased slightly.

"Thank you for restraining this cur," Morrigan said dryly, gesturing at Lyris. "`Twould be a pity if I had to reduce her to a stain on the grass."

Ellana huffed irritably. "Enough bickering. We are not children. There's no reason this should be anything but a civil discussion."

"Indeed, Lady Lavellan," Morrigan agreed with a nod and a warm smile. "I wished only to relay Mythal's gratitude to you for your service to the People. I will do what I can to aid you going forward. The Dales will soon belong to the People again."

"Pretty lies," Lyris snarled. "But you are playing the Game. You never stop, _Mythal._ Tell me, why did you send Abelas to me seeking his vallaslin removed? Did you believe Fen'Harel would be so foolish as to believe that slave would ever break his chains to you?"

Ellana cut a look to Lyris, blinking in bafflement. "You removed Abelas' vallaslin?"

"Fen'Harel taught Mathrel and I the spell when we began taking on so many Dalish clans," Lyris explained quickly. "There were too many asking him to remove them all at once. He could not give them freedom with so many other duties coming first."

Morrigan seemed taken aback, staring at them both for a moment with a blank expression. Then her golden eyes glazed a moment and she scowled, shaking her head even as an ingenuous smile curled her lips. "I…am unsure of what you refer to."

"Lies," Lyris spat. "Every word from your mouth."

Ellana, however, believed the confusion she saw on Morrigan's face. It was the same uneasiness and uncertainty she'd seen when they'd entered the temple of Mythal and heard Corypheus' men reference the Well of Sorrows when they'd all been under the impression that the darkspawn magister was truly after an eluvian. As Ellana watched, Morrigan pinched her lips together and seemed to brush aside the topic, moving onto whatever had drawn her here in what was definitely not an accidental or chance meeting.

"I will meet with you as I am able, my lady," Morrigan said and then frowned as she looked at Lyris briefly. "But clearly I am unwelcome, and this one's reaction will be tame compared to your lover's. _He_ would kill me."

"No," Ellana retorted at once. "That's not true."

Morrigan chuckled. "So wise and yet so naive, Lady Lavellan. But you know Fen'Harel sees trickery everywhere. He will kill any in his service who betray him." Her coy smile widened. "And `twas it not just last night that he chose to torture and kill an assassin rather than trust the Orlesians or the Inquisition?"

"How do you know about that?" Ellana asked, frowning.

"Perhaps they were _her_ assassins," Lyris suggested in a grumbling voice.

Morrigan laughed, tossing her head back at the force of it, though she regained her composure swiftly. " _My_ assassins? Truly? How foolish of me to seek to slay my own champions—or had you forgotten that `twas I who opened the hearts of hundreds of clan Keepers and Firsts?" Motioning to Ellana she added, "Including your own Keeper and brother. Mahanon is his name, correct? A fine young man, that one."

Ellana shuffled on her feet, beginning to feel an ache in her lower back from standing. "You didn't answer my question."

"How did I know about the assassins?" Morrigan repeated it, cocking her head and smirking. "Have you forgotten how quickly rumor spreads through the palace? Do you know how many tales I have heard just since this morning concerning you and your Dread Wolf?" She laughed again, flashing her white teeth. "My favorite is the most persistent—that you are actually heavy with the Inquisition commander's babe. `Tis a most scandalous tale, that one."

Sighing, Ellana dropped her gaze to her feet and then, clucking her tongue to herself when she found yet again that she could no longer see her toes around her burgeoning belly, she switched her focus to Morrigan's feet instead. "That story would be Madame de Fer's doing. To humiliate Solas, I suppose."

"I applaud her ingenuity for its hilarity," Morrigan said, her grin sly. "But Fen'Harel will never take such prattle seriously." Sobering, she edged a step closer, despite earning a growl from Lyris. "What he _will_ take seriously is the danger in this palace. Mark my words, Lady Lavellan, last night's assassination attempt will certainly not be the last. Fen'Harel will lose patience with this charade eventually, _especially_ because he has never expected it to work."

Ellana had guessed as much and didn't raise her eyes to meet Morrigan's stare now. Rubbing her back with one hand, she tried to stretch subtly as she struggled to come up with a response that was neutral and as unreadable as possible.

"When Fen'Harel does finally snap…" Morrigan clucked her tongue, humming in her throat. The sound drew Ellana's gaze and she found the witch's face darkened with black humor. "Well…I expect Southern Thedas will come to remember the Dread Wolf much as the Dalish have: a villain."

"That's already what they think of him," Ellana pointed out, shoulders sagging and voice heavy with sorrow. "Are you counseling me to end the negotiations? Would we be better served just taking what we want, even though thousands could die?"

"No," Morrigan said somberly. "I am advising you to be cautious. And, perhaps, you might attempt to appeal more to Marquise Briala. She may be the more important ally in Orlais. She is, after all, Marquise of the _Dales."_

Nodding, Ellana smiled. "Thank you, Lady Morrigan. I will take that advice to heart."

"See that you do," Morrigan replied, the coy smile returning. "And take care that you stay on your lover's good side." Smiling, she turned her back on them, waving daintily over her shoulder as she strode away. Her heeled shoes rustled gently against the yellowed grass and her dress swished. "Please give Fen'Harel Mythal's warm regards for me."

As soon as the witch was out of earshot, Lyris reached for Ellana, squeezing her shoulder and staring somberly into her face, as if searching for something before she said, "You know Fen'Harel would never harm you." It wasn't a question.

"Of course," Ellana said, though she laid a hand over her belly unconsciously. _But he might imprison me if he decides I'm a threat._ She couldn't stop the dark thought form passing through her mind and scowled, pulling out of Lyris' soft hold. "We must return to the pavilion before Solas gets worried."

* * *

At the noonday break Josephine approached them before they could slip from the pavilion. The Inquisition's ambassador was dressed in formalwear that matched Cullen and Leliana, pert and professional, and despite the circumstances all smiles as she spoke to Ellana. "Pardon me, Lady Lavellan, but I had hoped to invite you to an informal lunch with myself, Varric, and Thom." Her brown eyes slid to Solas and, without any hint of hesitance or displeasure, began extending the offer to him as well. "You are more than welcome as well, Master Solas."

Solas, standing at Ellana's side like a brooding shadow, watched Josephine from beneath his wolf headdress, aloof and inscrutable. Had he noticed, as Ellana had, that most of their Inquisition companions had incredible trouble referring to him as the Dread Wolf? Was it a ploy or an indicator that they still hoped to see him revert back to the humble, woodsy apostate?

"I'd love to Josie," Ellana answered, smiling. A glance toward Solas, however, confirmed her suspicions that he disapproved, and she could already guess why. "But…"

"It would be wiser to decline," Solas said, voice stiff. The twist of his mouth with sorrow rather than displeasure made Ellana's shoulders sag under the weight of her upper body. She wasn't Inquisitor any longer and any association with an official member, like Josephine, would cast doubt on their involvement in the talks as a neutral entity. Inevitably, despite Ellana's wishes to believe otherwise, this invitation was another part of the Game. Just as everything at Halamshiral was.

The ambassador nodded even as her face fell at their response. "I understand." She wrung her hands, staring at the floor a moment before she cleared her throat and said, "It was truly to be informal, but your caution is indeed warranted." She flashed a smile that was bright despite the sadness in her eyes. "Regardless, it was good to see you, Lady Lavellan, Master Solas. Should I not see you again, I wanted to wish you well, and not just on your little one. The elven people deserve a homeland of their own."

Ellana raised a brow, surprised by the emphatic tone Josephine had used. Solas made a humming noise in the back of his throat. "That is a most unpopular sentiment, Lady Montiliyet. You surprise me."

Josephine smiled, closed lipped this time as she dipped her head. "I shall take that as a compliment." Then, sobering, she reached out and grasped Ellana's hands in her own, squeezing. "It was good to see you, my lady."

As Josephine released Ellana's hands and walked away to exit the pavilion, Ellana found herself clutching a small crumpled note on smooth, white parchment. Clenching her fist to hide the note, her heart started hammering in her chest. She saw Solas watching her, the glitter of his eyes from under the wolf headdress distinctive despite the shadow. "Vhenan?" he asked, sensing her shifting mood.

"Let's take lunch in our chambers," she said quickly, narrowing her eyes at him to communicate silently. "I'm starving and I have to—"

"Answer the call of nature?" He smirked. "Certainly." Laying a hand at the small of her back, Solas walked with her from the pavilion. Lyris and Mathrel tailed after them, the ever-vigilant bodyguards. Ellana palmed the note as they walked, feeling it absorb the sweat from her hand. She barely registered the gilded paneling on the walls they passed or heard the hushed whispers of servants and guards as they went by. Finally at their room they found a meal of pastas waiting for them, rich with crusty cheeses that set Ellana's mouth watering at once, though she knew she had to wait for the food to be tested.

While the taster and the apothecary tested the food, Ellana sat on their bed and opened the note from Josephine. _An hour after sundown,_ the note read, _meet me at the baths._ The note was unsigned but had been written on clean, crisp stationary carrying the Inquisition's heraldry on it and the handwriting Ellana recognized as being Leliana's—not Josephine's.

When the taster and the apothecary had finished and left, Ellana shared the note with Solas as they ate. He grunted with interest and then, casually, ignited the parchment between his fingers. The ashes scattered on the table and he dusted them aside.

"Leliana," he said, coming to the same conclusion she had. His expression was neutral, hard to read beneath the headdress, which he had yet to take off despite the fact they were alone.

"Do we meet with her?" Ellana asked, struggling to contain her own anxiousness and keep it from showing. She chased a noodle around her plate, trailing strings of cheese. Her stomach, already tight from the constant press of the baby, seemed to have shrunken, tightening like a fist.

"It could be a trap," Solas said, a note of hesitance in his voice. "But I believe it worth the risk. Leliana may know who hired the assassins. My spies suspect the empress rather than the Inquisition, as do I." He paused, sighing. "I expect they hope you alone will show. My presence may…" His lips tugged downward. "…disrupt their trust."

"You really think it's safe for me to go alone?" she asked, arching a brow in disbelief.

Now he smiled. "Not truly, but in appearance. I can linger out of sight and come to you quickly if there is any sign of trouble." Pushing his plate away, he absently clinked his fork against the edge of the pale porcelain tray their food had come on. "There is a palace rumor that the Inquisition is desperate to reclaim you as Inquisitor."

Ellana's jaw dropped with surprise. "Really?" she asked. At his nod and the smirk he wore over his lips, she snorted. "Even after I ran off with the Dread Wolf they'd forgive me and take me back? You cannot be serious, trickster."

"Indeed," he said, grinning now, apparently fond of this rumor and the playful note in her voice. "Primarily, I fear they believe I have you under some kind of spell or—"

"Or I lost my mind because I'm pregnant?" She rolled her eyes, spearing a few noodles with a squeal of metal on porcelain. "I've heard that one."

"Yes, that's another one." He tapped the fork again on the tray. "We can't combat that rumor, as much as I despise it. But if you meet alone with Leliana at the baths you can reassure her that I don't have you under a spell or on a leash." He dropped the fork with a gentle clink and smiled, playful and lascivious. "If only the palace knew the scandalous truth."

She shot him a small, coy grin of her own. "Which is what, exactly?"

Solas leaned his elbows onto the small table between them, his blue eyes glinting beneath the shadow of the headdress. His teeth flashed, bright and sharp in his mouth and making her body flush warm at the thought of what he could do with those lush lips and tongue. "That _I_ am the one on the leash, I should think."

Scoffing, she let out a quick laugh. "Hardly."

"Vhenan," he said, suddenly somber. He swallowed, throat bobbing. "Would you consent to—"

Whatever he'd been about to ask was cut off as they both whipped their heads toward the closed door to their chambers, having heard Lyris' shout and the sudden, harsh thumping of feet on the floor. Solas cursed under his breath and shot upright, Fade stepping in a blue streak for the door. Ellana was suddenly dizzy, her mouth bone dry. She got to her feet, scrambling to the dresser where she'd left her bow and the accompanying arrow quiver.

Solas threw open the door and Ellana saw Lyris lunging with her spectral blade buzzing, bright white as it cut through the figure facing her. The lithe rogue attacking her fell backward, crumpling as the spectral blade passed through the woman's chest. Blood spurted, hissing in arterial spray.

A blurred shape caught Ellana's eye and she nocked an arrow as she yelled, "Cloaked rogue!"

The attacker reappeared, slashing with his daggers, aiming for Solas' neck. But Solas phased out, blurring in a miniaturized Fade step, streaking through his attacker and freezing him solid. Ellana released her arrow, launching it straight through the frozen figure and the rogue shattered a second later, little more than dust under their combined attacks.

Solas cast again, using both hands in a waving gesture and Ellana shivered, feeling the temperature plummet. Her breath fogged in front of her as the water in the air froze and fell away, sparkling like glitter. They stood motionless, tense and waiting for any other attackers—visible or invisible alike. Long seconds passed with nothing but the sound of Ellana's blood rushing in her ears. There was no sign of another hidden rogue in the gathering frost of their room.

Finally Lyris staggered into the doorway, teeth gnashing and coated in crimson. Ellana gasped, realizing suddenly that the arcane warrior had been wounded. "Lyris!"

Solas Fade stepped to catch Lyris in his arms as she fell.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Laying a hand on his forearm, Ellana squeezed. "What do we do, emma lath?"

His nostrils flared as he breathed, not looking at her for a long moment. Then his blue-gray eyes slid to her and narrowed. "We will show them that wolves have fangs."

* * *

Author's note: Oh yeah, how many of you noticed the lunchtime assassins interrupted Solas' attempted proposal? Ah, nuts. 


	32. Wolf Among The Vipers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana meets with the Inquisition on the down low. A palace servant reveals Briala is playing both sides, but may be swayed to join them. Solas sees no way out of their situation without violence.

Dragging Lyris deeper into the room disturbed the layer of frost Solas' spell had created over the floor to expose invisible attackers, but he didn't care. When she was inside their room Solas dropped into a crouch and pulled the warrior into his arms. Ellana rushed forward, falling to her knees at his side and digging at Lyris' armor to try and expose her wound, but uncovering it through the gore already on her was difficult. Solas concentrated on Lyris, feeling the charge of her magic reacting with his own as he reached out with those unseen senses. He felt the snag of magic, a knot where her energies caught in a violent eddy on the wound.

"Her left shoulder," he told Ellana. "Close to the artery."

"Oh no," Ellana breathed and redoubled her efforts to tear off the warrior's armor.

Lyris groaned in his arms, her skin as pale as the snow that'd still littered the ground in the Emerald Graves when they'd left a week ago. She struggled to lift her head, brow knit and coated in sweat. She started speaking in slurred elven. "Dirthera ma vhenan ir abelas, na—"

"You will tell him yourself, falon," Solas told her through clenched teeth as he reached for his core, summoning as much magic as he could and pushing it into her as he pressed his palm over the wound. She gasped, groaning, then cursing in elven as her eyelids fluttered closed. Her head fell back, limp.

"Lyris!" Ellana cried, shrill with alarm.

"She merely rests," Solas told her, still focused on the surge of magic flowing through his body and into Lyris. The Veil strangled his mana draw and the effort of continuously fighting it soon had him feeling hot and shaky, sweat lining his brow along the wolf headdress. Yet he could feel the wound stabilizing, flesh knitting together as the bleeding slowed to an ooze that'd undoubtedly stop on its own. It was not as grave a wound as Ellana's had been when Sera accidentally shot her—the rogue assassin's knife had missed the lungs—but with the Veil hampering him and after Lyris' profuse blood loss, the warrior would be weak and vulnerable for a few days. A wound like this would have been merely an inconvenience if they were within the Fade.

Thumping and the clank of armor came through the hall as Orlesian guards rushed into their room. "What's going on here?" one of the men called out in his nasally, accented voice.

Had they delayed purposefully? Solas' blood still pounded through him, his head swimming with the hard, sudden drain of his core. How long had it been since the assassins had struck? It felt like hours though Solas knew only minutes had passed, but regardless, it'd taken these guards far longer than it should have for them to react.

"There's been an attack," Ellana answered, breathless but still authoritative. "Our companion was wounded. You." She gestured at one of the guards. "Fetch us some bandaging and be on alert. There may be more assassins. These were cloaked rogues wielding daggers."

The guard she'd indicated pivoted and rushed away with a steady thumping while the other two men lingered in the doorway, vaguely standing watch. Solas wrestled with the ominous press of rage coiling inside him, choosing to focus on Lyris rather than on the incompetency of the Orlesians. Scooping the warrior up into his arms, he carried her to the bed, heedless of the crimson stains he left behind on his clothing, the carpeting, and the bedspread.

It was only a few minutes later that Matheral arrived, likely expecting to join Lyris in escorting them back from lunch only to find the guards around the doorway and at least one body in the hall. The warrior shouted from outside when the guards ordered him to halt and stand back.

"Let him through," Solas ordered and rose from his spot at Lyris' bedside to make room for Mathrel to take his place. The stricken expression on his face as he registered Lyris and the bloodstains over the room made Solas' chest tighten painfully with sympathy. Soon Mathrel's darker skin tone had paled into an ashen one that was nearly as drawn and sickly as his bondmate's.

"I'm so sorry, Mathrel," Ellana said, her voice choked. She had taken a position sitting on the bed, dexterous despite the pronounced roundness of her belly. Clutching one of Lyris' hands in her own, her lips were set in a hard line while her eyes were misty with unshed tears and worry.

Mathrel laid a hand on Lyris' cheek. "There's nothing you need to apologize for," he told her, voice rough and deep. His eyes stayed riveted to Lyris. "She lives. That is all that matters."

Solas left them with Lyris to investigate the body of the other assassin. The Orlesian guards watched him, their postures stiff and wary, their sword hands resting on their belts, ready to draw their weapons and use them—on _him._ On some level Solas hoped they would attack, because then he'd have an outlet for the tumultuous fury broiling within. Instead he turned his mind to the hallway, scanning the lush blue carpeting of the guest wing and taking in the blotches and spray left by blood. A body lay crumpled in blood off to his right, the throat slashed by Lyris' spectral blade. A second assassin lay much closer to the door, stabbed through the chest. Scorch marks blackened the gilded paneling on the walls, left behind by Lyris as she cast fire or lightning at her attackers. Servants and a few other guests or palace personnel gawked from down the hallway, whispering and staring.

Solas rolled the nearest body over using his magic, casually raising one hand and maneuvering the assassin onto her back to examine her armor. It was nondescript; carrying no obvious markers to give away who she'd worked for, yet the assassin had worn a leering mask over her face that seemed to be a mockery of the usual Orlesian practice. Solas recalled the House of Repose and the brief skirmish he'd been part of when Ellana had gotten involved in the Montilyet's fortunes and had to save Josephine from their assassins. They'd used cloaked assassins as well.

The hissed whispers from down the hall had increased as he lingered over the body. Solas turned his head and glared down the hallway at them, lips quirking in a scowl and his hands clenching into fists. It was increasingly clear to Solas that the Orlesians didn't share Ellana's naivety in believing peace was possible through negotiation. The empress had invited them here only with the hope of ending their rebellion through assassination.

 _At least now there is evidence,_ he thought, sneering down at the bodies in the hall.

Solas returned to the bedroom, finding Ellana chatting in a low voice to Mathrel as she recounted the attack. Lyris lay on the bed between them, pale and unconscious, but breathing deeply as she slept. Sighing, Solas' gaze traveled to the shadow under their enormous bed where he'd stashed the bow he'd commissioned for Ellana as a betrothal gift, as clan Lavellan custom dictated. He'd hoped to present it to her and ask her to become his bondmate weeks ago, but the Emerald Graves campaign had interfered. With the baby fast approaching, Solas was running out of time.

A servant charged through the door, arms laden with bandaging and other supplies. The servant was lean even for an elf, red-faced and shaking as he passed his burden off to Mathrel. The boy kept shooting anxious looks over his shoulder at Solas, lips twitching.

Solas tensed, uncertain what the boy might do, but he needn't have worried. When he'd finished the servant boy whipped around and stared at Solas, jaw clenching and brown eyes wide as he spoke in a hushed whisper, "They say you bring mien'harel."

Solas nodded gravely, his lips curling in a vicious, humorless smile. "Do you grow weary of the shemlen, lethallin?" he asked.

"Every day," the boy growled, though his eyes flicked anxiously toward the door. After a pause he licked his lips and dipped his head, adding, "Hahren."

"Join us in the Emerald Graves," Solas said, letting his voice slide into a deeper octave. "Your ancestors walked this world with power the shemlens cannot even imagine. It will be so again by my hand."

"City elves are welcome?" the boy asked, both eyebrows shooting up into his forehead with obvious surprise.

Solas' smile softened with compassion. "We are all one people, lethallin. The Dalish are no more Elvhen than you and your kin." He knew there were still divisions between the Dalish and the city elves serving him, but Solas had seen those differences cast aside as both groups fought together for a common goal.

The servant boy quickly glanced behind him to the bed where Mathrel and Ellana still tended Lyris. Then, squaring his shoulders, the boy faced Solas again and edged closer, whispering, "The Marquise plays both sides, hahren. She wishes to explore alliance and longs for an elven homeland, but she does not trust the Dalish."

Now Solas smirked. "Then it is a good thing I am not Dalish, lethallin. I am Elvhen." Schooling his reaction to be warm and yet authoritative, he let the silence drag out, hoping to extract more information from the servant regarding Briala. He knew more about the Marquise than anyone would suspect, but he had to be cautious with Briala. She was a trickster in her own right and Solas didn't know what to expect from her.

Nodding, the servant said, "The Marquise wishes you to know that the next attempt on your lives will be poison. It will be in your bedsheets tomorrow night."

"Ma serannas," Solas replied, somber and genuine. He had not thought to suspect poisoning through linens and at this news his mind spun out, considering the preemptive steps he'd need to take to ensure their safety. At the servant's nervous look Solas added, "Your information is safe with me. We will happen upon the poison on our own and take precautions against future attacks."

Relieved, the servant boy dropped into a bow. "Until we meet again, Dread Wolf."

Solas laid a hand over the youth's shoulder and squeezed. "Dareth shiral." As he watched the boy leave, Solas pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting down something like bile rising in his throat. This charade was too visible, too dangerous. Fen'Harel did not see it as worth the risk. Only Solas' desire to keep Ellana placated had forced him to come here. Now, with two assassination attempts in less than twenty-four hours, it seemed increasingly foolish to remain, even with promising tidbits like the meeting with Leliana and the servant's warning on Briala's behalf.

_The wolf should know better than to share a den with vipers._

* * *

Ellana was surprised to find the baths open despite the biting chill in the air. They'd been renovated from their summertime design with glass inserts that now held in the heat of the baths within. Gold-orange firelight flickered from braziers beyond the foggy glass, wet with condensation. A concierge waited outside the main entrance, smiling as Ellana approached with her new retinue of bodyguards—Abelas and two Dalish, Samhel from her clan and Shila, a First from a clan called Ghilath.

"Lady Lavellan," the concierge greeted her with a thick Orlesian accent. "Welcome. I'm afraid I don't have an appointment down for you, but—"

"Ellana!" a voice exclaimed from the shadows around the corner of the bath. All three bodyguards tensed behind Ellana as everyone turned in that direction in surprise as a small figure emerged into the pale, milky moonlight.

Ellana recognized Scout Lace Harding's tiny form and grinned. "Scout Harding, what a pleasant surprise."

The dwarf shuffled her feet as if bashful. "Wasn't expecting to run across you on my nightly rounds." Her pale, freckled face split with a wide grin as she motioned with her head toward Ellana's abdomen and chuckled. "I see the rumors were true back during the Exalted Council."

"Yes," she agreed, laying a hand over her belly. "True and larger than life now."

Harding cocked her head to one side, smiling warmly as she gestured at the gardens around the baths. "Feel up to a walk so we can catch up?" she asked, then shrugged toward the concierge. "This place is always so hoity-toity they'd never be able to get you in under such short notice, I'm afraid."

The concierge sniffed, thrusting his nose into the air snottily, but he said nothing to refute Harding's comment. Ellana shot him an apologetic smile and then spoke to Harding a little louder than she needed to, "I could use a walk, sure."

Falling in line beside Harding, Ellana walked through the garden and up the short stairs to the fountain that'd been dedicated to the alliance between the Inquisition and Orlais. The musical tinkling of water made Ellana's bladder seem to shrivel. She'd made sure to use the chamber pot before she, Solas, and their retinue of bodyguards exited the palace, but it seemed her bladder had the magical power to conjure water the way Solas could from Fade ether. It never stayed empty for more than a few minutes.

They sat on a bench beside the fountain. Harding had to sit at the edge of the bench to keep her short legs from swinging free. Ellana reclined, trying hard not to slouch. The baby kicked and squirmed, making her wince. Watching her, Harding chuckled. "That looks like it's uncomfortable," she commented.

"He's a fighter," she said, smirking. _Like his father…_

"A friend of mine let me feel her baby kicking back when I still lived in the Hinterlands," Harding said, nose wrinkling with humor. "It was like her daughter wanted to kick her way out. My friend said she loved it, but it didn't look very fun to me."

"Sometimes he kicks a bit too hard," Ellana conceded, still smiling. "It's reassuring, even if it is uncomfortable." She felt the weight of grief settling within her, like a brick that fought the baby for space inside her. The memory of Lyris' blood, her pale skin and slurred babbling as she asked Solas to tell Mathrel something for her kept leaping into her mind's eye whenever she blinked.

Harding made a sympathetic sound, as if she could read Ellana's mind. "I heard there was another assassination attempt. Leliana keeps me informed."

Samhel and Shila were walking around the fountain, peering over the walls and into the grounds beyond, searching for dangers and eavesdroppers. Abelas, however, stayed close enough that she could have reached out and gripped his forearm. Harding cast a quick glance at the wandering elves, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. If the bodyguards bothered her she didn't reveal it. Leliana had been grooming her as her understudy and eventual replacement. The dwarf's easygoing, friendly nature apparently belied her ability to deceive and uncover others' motives.

"Yes," Ellana murmured, lowering her gaze to her lap. "One of us was injured. A friend." She cleared her throat and met Harding's sympathetic gaze with her own. "I was under the impression Leliana would meet with me."

Harding smiled, tight and closed-lipped. "She wanted to, but the best she could manage was to send me. She can't afford to be seen with you. It would compromise the Inquisition too much. We're supposed to be neutral in all this—as servants of the Chantry and Divine Victoria—and people already don't believe we are. So Leliana couldn't come here."

"Leliana hasn't become Inquisitor?" Ellana asked, arching an eyebrow.

Harding's smile turned sly. "No. She still prefers secrets to leading. If Cassandra wasn't Divine she would step in, I'm sure. And the commander is too busy second-guessing himself because of his past." Her brow knit with sympathy at that last comment and Ellana sighed, staring down into her lap again as her ear tips burned. She could imagine her two advisors arguing amongst themselves with Cassandra pressuring them from outside, insisting one of them must step up to fill the void of Ellana's departure. Josephine would never be a suitable replacement because she was just too good of an ambassador.

"I wish I could've stayed," she murmured, still unable to look at the dwarf woman in the eye. "But Cassandra and Leliana forced the issue when they arrested Solas."

Harding let out a tight chuckle. "I have to be honest—we still don't know what to make of him being some kind of elven god. We still have a lot of unanswered questions."

"And I cannot answer them," Ellana said with a little depressed huff. "I'm sorry. Suffice to say, Solas and I are fighting for our people's long term survival." A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Believe it or not, retaking the Dales is the least destructive option we had." She forced herself to look Harding in the eye, willing the dwarf to take her seriously. "Please, if you could pass that along to Leliana and Cassandra…"

"I will," Harding agreed, also smiling. She gave a shrug. "Can't say I understand exactly, but I'll tell them." As her smile fell away, leaving her features twisting into something somber and grave, Harding scooted closer over the bench, ignoring the way the movement made Abelas shift his stance, alert for danger. The dwarf spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper. "Leliana wanted to warn you that her spies say both the Antivan Crows and the House of Repose have been contracted by Empress Celene to kill you and Solas. And the word from Tevinter is that they want in on the action too and have sent some assassins as well."

Ellana let out a dry laugh. "It sounds like they're going to have to form a line and have duels over which one gets to kill us." She frowned, a mixture of playfulness and irritation making her skin warm in spite of the chilly air. "Also, your warning's a bit late, Scout Harding. I expected better of you."

Harding laughed, full-throated and loud. After catching her breath, she shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint, ma'am. Honestly, we didn't expect them to move so _fast_."

"Yes, two assassination attempts per day is a bit overzealous," Ellana muttered, smirking with dark humor. Heaving a sigh, she frowned as all mirth left her. "But it sounds as though we can expect many more." Arching an eyebrow at Harding, she asked, "Did Leliana have any bright ideas for you to share with me?"

The dwarf woman sat silent, her gaze averted. Clouds scudded across the moon, sending the gardens into a gloomier darkness. Samhel gave a little cough as the silence reigned. Finally Harding said, "Nothing that you'd want to hear, your worship."

Thinking of the way Solas had warned her moodily that afternoon that peace wouldn't come through negotiation, Ellana groaned and scrubbed at her face with both hands. "You're going to tell me these talks won't work, aren't you?"

Harding gave a half-shrug. "Basically." She fidgeted and then added, "Actually, it's worse than that. Leliana thinks you'll both wind up dead unless something drastic is done. She wanted me to come here and encourage you to renounce… _him_ , whatever he wants to be called now." Harding cut a narrow-eyed, anxious look to the three elven bodyguards. "The Inquisition would offer you protection. Divine Victoria could work from within the Chantry to arrange the Emerald Graves are returned to the elves in exchange for peace."

"You're bribing me with the Emerald Graves to try and get me to leave Solas?" Ellana asked, deadpan and cold. Her hands bunched into fists, clenching the fabric of her coat on her thighs.

"We're trying to save your life, Inquisitor," Harding said and then stared, eyes widening and one hand slapping over her lips as they both realized what she'd called Ellana.

Closing her eyes and turning her head away, Ellana clenched her jaw, fighting the sudden sting of tears. _They really do want me back,_ she thought.

"I am not Inquisitor any longer," Ellana bit the words out. Her limbs had grown heavy and twitchy, her body suffused with waves of heat that made her sweat. Her bladder seemed to have shrunken again, full to the brim and incessant in reminding her that she needed to empty it. The watery song of the fountain and the mounting tension of the conversation wasn't helping either.

"Whatever you're helping him do with the Fade, with the mark…" Harding went on, a note of pleading in her voice. "It can't be good. Dorian, Sera, Rainier, and Iron Bull have fed Leliana reports of what they learned while with you and it's…terrifying."

"Only because you don't understand it," Ellana muttered. "But my people _need_ the Fade."

"I don't know much about elven history," Harding admitted, still sounding spooked but also emphatic. "But what I _do_ know is Fen'Harel is supposed to be a trickster. Leliana's convinced now he was responsible for Corypheus and the Breach. That means he was never here with us because it was the right thing, he was just after the orb or the Anchor." She sighed, the sound carrying both anger and sadness. "You can't trust him, Ellana."

Ellana had flinched at Harding's comment about the Breach and Corypheus, but she schooled her reaction as she thought, _Solas would never do something that horrible again now that he knows this world is as real as Elvhenan._ Keeping her words as even as she could, she said, "I appreciate the Inquisition's concern for my wellbeing; however, I'm not going to abandon Solas, no matter his past. Now, if that is all you have to say, I really must reliev—excuse myself." Heat leapt into her cheeks, burning at the slip, but fortunately Harding made no reaction as she hopped to her feet and offered Ellana a quick bow.

"Do keep the offer in mind, Lady Lavellan," she said, slipping back into a friendly but formal tone. A moment later she strode away, trotting in that distinctive short-legged gait of dwarves. Ellana watched her go, still fighting the blush and trying not to think of her bladder.

The wind whipped past Ellana, tugging at her hair and her coat. She shivered and hunkered down further into her coat. The clouds had only thickened over the moon, leaving the gardens gloomy and dark.

Abelas shifted beside her and broke the quiet to speak in a subdued voice, "Sadly the Child of the Stone is correct that what we do with the power of the Fade restored to us _will_ be terrifying for the other races."

"Only to those who oppose or threaten us," Ellana retorted scowling as she twisted at the neck to stare up at him. Solas had appointed the sentinel as one of their bodyguards because he was a capable warrior, but Ellana knew the two men felt nothing but animosity and distrust toward one another. Solas contended that Abelas had betrayed him, leaving with his sentinels suddenly before their battle with the Forgotten Ones. The departure of a few dozen talented Elvhen warriors hadn't stopped Solas' army from achieving victory, but like him, Ellana wondered if fewer lives would've been lost had the sentinels remained loyal. But, then again, they'd never been disingenuous about _whom_ they truly served: Mythal.

Except now, oddly enough, she saw Abelas had indeed had his vallaslin removed. His pale forehead was smooth and clearly unmarked despite the darkness and the shadow of his hood. His golden eyes glittered as he stared down at her with an expression that reminded Ellana of one her Keeper would've given her when she said something childish and naïve.

"That will be how it will begin," Abelas said, lips pinching into a hard, firm line. "But once we have drunk of power long enough and our numbers grow, we will find the Dales are not enough. Thedas was not enough for Elvhenan, after all. We fell to civil war, greed, and corruption."

"You're cheery tonight," she grumbled, sagging against the bench. She sighed, frowning, because she knew his assessment on the future was probably accurate. She'd used it with Solas before and even he had had no refute.

"I _am_ named Abelas," he reminded her.

On either side of the fountain stood her other two bodyguards, Samhel bright in his brown and green Dalish warrior armor and Shila in the mage robes of a Keeper. They watched her, waiting for her signal to leave. Despite the danger of assassination and the annoying insistence of her bladder, Ellana found the chilly night air calming—or she had until Abelas spoke, anyway.

Ellana craned her neck again to stare at him, curious at the note of humor she'd thought she heard in his voice. When she saw the slight smile on his lips she let out a snort. "So you are. Care to tell me why? Did you pick it or were parents in Elvhenan fond of naming their children after emotions?"

"I selected it when I entered Mythal's service," he answered.

"Oh?" she crooned, intrigued. "And what was your given name?"

He shot her an unreadable look. "Why?"

Shrugging, she said, "I'm curious. Indulge me. What sorts of names were popular where—and _when_ ever—you were born?"

"Looking for baby names, Lana?" Samhel asked from near the fountain, grinning at her.

"Maybe," she hedged, returning his grin with one of her own. "And before you start, I know you and the rest of the clan have plenty of suggestions, but those are _new_ names." Casting a speculative glance at Abelas, she added, "At least I think they are." Raising her eyebrows and gesturing encouragingly, she said, "So, what was your first name? Your _real_ name?"

"Abelas," he replied, scowling. "That _is_ my _real_ name. It was not chosen lightly."

Tapping the fingers of her right hand against her left bicep, Ellana pinched her lips together. "Why did you ask to have your vallaslin removed?" she asked, all trace of amusement gone.

"I no longer desired to be bound to Mythal," he replied simply. Yet the way his eyes narrowed and he averted his gaze made something prickle inside Ellana with suspicion. There was more to it than that—there _had_ to be.

"But _why?"_ she pressed, shifting on the bench to face him directly. He refused to answer, jaw clenching as he stared off at the fountain. "Solas told me the vallaslin could compel you to obey Mythal. Was that true? Is that why you had them removed?"

He shook his head, but Ellana took the motion as one of reaction to her words and not an actual answer to her question. His lips quirked in a mild frown before his expression returned to a cold neutral. Long seconds passed and it seemed he would remain silent, but then, just as Ellana started to turn away, Abelas said, "I disagreed with Mythal's plans and with the old world now dead, I am free to leave. Therefore, I left her service."

Ellana tensed. "What plans?"

Now Abelas stared straight forward through the dark, silent. Ellana waited, watching him as the clouds finally passed by the moon, bathing the gardens in the milky light again. It was clear he wouldn't answer her this time and Ellana bit back the desire to growl with irritation as she scooted forward over the bench. Rubbing a hand over her belly, she felt again the press of her bladder and heaved herself up to her feet with a grunt. "We should get going."

Samhel and Shila, the Dalish first, strode to take up positions around Ellana as she walked toward the short stairs. Abelas led the way, his tread confident and swift. Ellana waddled behind him, feeling like a splayfooted duck when compared to her companions now with the weight of the baby heavy over her hips. Samhel fell into step at her side as they neared the baths and said, "You know your dwarven friend? The famous writer? Darric?"

"Varric," Ellana corrected him with a laugh. "What's he done now?"

Samhel chuckled at his own error. "He found Lerand and me and others like Shila who came with us from the Graves and asked us to wager on whether you're carrying a boy or a girl. He said the odds were even and he needed to ante up the bets."

Struggling to withhold laughter in favor of her ever-full bladder, Ellana asked, "And did you help him in this quest of his?"

The Dalish warrior—who would have been Ellana's brother-in-law had she not left for the conclave—laid a hand over his chest and flashed an innocent expression. "Me? I would never do such a thing. Of course that was only because Lerand and I didn't have a single coin to our name and the dwarf refused to bet that crossbow of his."

Now she did burst out laughing again, only to groan as she slowed her step, causing all three bodyguards to hesitate as they regarded her. They'd reached the baths again and the concierge still standing watch at the door turned his head also to look at her, his face unreadable with his mask. "Stop making me laugh, Samhel," she scolded him. "I'm in desperate need of a chamber pot."

"Why not use the potted plants?" Samhel asked, smirking. "We _are_ Dalish savages, aren't we?"

She gave him a playful shrug and saw the concierge a few meters away had started studying his shoes as though bored. Behind them Shila sniggered while Abelas showed no reaction at all except for crossing his arms over his chest. Deciding not to do as Samhel suggested, Ellana started walking again, leaving the baths and the gardens. Rounding the wall as they entered the courtyard proper, Ellana recognized Solas' cloaked figure, hood up and leaning casually against a potted plant as he examined his nails. He had not worn the wolf headdress here, much to Ellana's surprise. Lerand and another Dalish First stood nearby as his bodyguards, both appearing stiff and tense. Solas, however, seemed far more at ease as he pushed himself off the potted plant and strode to meet her, wrapping his arms around her in an embrace.

With their foreheads pressed together, Solas spoke in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. "What news, vhenan?"

Licking her lips, she told him what Scout Harding had said. When she reached the bit about Leliana's prediction that they'd be dead and Ellana should just leave Solas to return to the Inquisition, Solas snarled. Pulling away, he glared at the palace behind her. "This is a nest of vipers."

Laying a hand on his forearm, Ellana squeezed. "What do we do, emma lath?"

His nostrils flared as he breathed, not looking at her for a long moment. Then his blue-gray eyes slid to her and narrowed. "We will show them that wolves have fangs."

* * *

That night as Solas set the wards around their room, Ellana lay in their bed nestled beneath the covers, talking to him in a voice made rough with fatigue. "What were your parents' names?"

The question took him aback, making him freeze midway through the latest ward—this one located over the windowsill farthest from their bed. Glancing at the bed, he blinked against the gloom. The room was lit by a single veilfire orb he'd cast while preparing the wards, coloring everything in a soft, iridescent green. He could see Ellana propped up in the bed with an assortment of puffy pillows beneath her head and shoulders. The round swell of her belly made a little hill for her hands to rest upon. The sight of it tugged his lips into a warm smile, chasing away the thought of assassins and poison and rebellion for the moment.

Reaching into his mana core, Solas cast the ward, charging it with magic. "You are seeking names for our child."

She chuckled. "And _you_ are avoiding answering my question." The sheets rustled as she shifted in bed in the unceasing quest to find a comfortable position. Solas had found his sleep disrupted by her tossing and turning more than once as the child grew, making it harder for her to get comfortable.

Crossing along the wall farthest from their bed, Solas began another ward. He'd paced the room during the day, tapping the walls as he searched for any signs they might be hollow with secret passages and hadn't been convinced there wasn't something hidden. As he charged this next ward, he said, "My father's name was Sylvun. My mother was called Renan." Even without looking at her, Solas could sense Ellana absorbing the names, assessing their meanings.

Solas kept working along the wall, placing more ice wards to occupy his mind. Considering his parents always brought on the bitter pain of their loss, the cutting guilt and shame at knowing he was responsible for their deaths. The idea of possibly honoring them by naming their child after one of them was both enticing and terrifying. He didn't probe at his emotions around the idea, uncertain of what he'd find.

"Breath of life," Ellana said, defining his father's name aloud. "A beautiful meaning. You said he worked in the Elvhen library. Was he bookish like you? A good storyteller?"

Pausing on his current ward, Solas nodded though he doubted she'd see it. His father had been something akin to their village's lore keeper, a man with an impressive vocabulary and a wealth of stories to share. Some of the tales Solas had shared as his own had actually come from his father. "He was indeed, vhenan."

"And Renan: voice," she said, moving onto his mother. Chuckling, she asked, "You said your mother had a temper?"

"Yes." Oddly, he found he couldn't say anything more. His throat was tight, clamping down on any words he'd wanted to say—not that he had any. Solas finished warding the far wall and returned to the window, having already done the door and the wall adjacent to it. The wards had faded to be nearly invisible after he'd primed them, leaving only a faint bluish hue to mark the ice magic lying in wait.

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "Does it hurt to remember them? I didn't mean to cause you pain."

Sighing heavily, he stared at Ellana on the bed, seeing the glint of her green eyes reflecting the veilfire. Slowly, he let his lips curl in a gentle, sad smile. "The loss will always be mine to bear, vhenan. It will always hurt, but you have nothing to apologize for, and I do them a disservice by locking away the memory of them." Still pausing before setting the next ward on the middle window, his eyes glazed as his long memory supplied the sound of his mother's voice echoing through his mind. "My mother was well named as she possessed a powerful voice and an even greater will."

"I wish I could have met her," Ellana said. "And your father, too." She made a contented noise in her throat, a soft humming. "Sylvun," she said, tasting his father's name and then letting out a little noise of surprise that drew Solas' gaze to her, narrowing with concern.

"Vhenan?"

"He kicked when I said it," she explained, grinning. Her teeth glinted green as they reflected the veilfire. "Well, that settles it. He wants to be named after your father."

Solas chuckled as he finished casting with a flourish of one hand and then sidestepped to stand with his back to Ellana to finish the last ward on the window closest to their sleeping position. "And what if _he_ happens to be born _she?"_

"It'll still work out," Ellana insisted and he could hear the shrug in her words as well as hear it in the way her shoulders rustled against the pillows behind her. "Sylvun could be a daughter's name as well. But this baby is a boy. I just know it."

"In that case I'm surprised you have not succumbed to Varric's gamble on the matter," Solas commented as he finished the ward and moved to the bed, smiling down at her.

"Maybe I will," she said, smirking as both hands on her belly moved in an idle circle.

The little motion drew Solas' gaze and he felt his own fingers twitch with the need to touch her. Moving the covers aside, he slipped into the bed and nuzzled close to her, resting his forehead against hers and wrapping an arm over her to pull her close. He let out a long breath, relaxing and luxuriating in her closeness, the warmth of her body alive and healthy and whole. Her breath puffed on his cheek as she heaved a long, soft sigh of her own.

He wished he could spend the night teaching her in the Fade, or reaching out to Mahanon in the Emerald Graves, or even just sharing his memories of Elvhenan and Arlathan with Ellana in dreams. But he knew rebellion awaited him, the promise of violence. The humans needed a reminder that their rule over Thedas wasn't absolute. They needed to realize that Fen'Harel didn't require the Fade to cause chaos and that they should have used the peace talks for _peace_ , not plotting assassination. He knew just the Elvhen mage to reach out to for maximum chaos—Zevanni.

She was currently in Tevinter, but with the eluvians she could quickly return to the Emerald Graves and Solas knew he had more than enough willing elves, Dalish and city elf alike, who would leap at the chance to begin clearing out human settlements from the Exalted Plains. Also using the eluvians, Zevanni could attack almost anywhere, harrying and stealing and inciting rebellions. Solas had let the city elves stew quietly for weeks now while he focused on the Emerald Graves, but it was definitely time to stir that pot to an explosive boil. His message would be as clear as he could make it: _Give us what we want or we will take it from you and send you straight to the void._

"What are you thinking?" she asked, prodding his arm with one hand.

"Hmm." He nuzzled her ear again, pushing aside his darker thoughts even though he knew Ellana would want him to include her in them. "I was wondering if you would not prefer to name our child after your father, perhaps, as you are so convinced we will have a son."

"No," she said and he knew by the tone of her voice that she frowned as she said it. "Mahanon should be the one to name a son after our father."

He blinked through the darkness at her, startled at the slight bitterness he heard in her tone. Raising the arm stretched out over her to cup her cheek affectionately, Solas asked, "What troubles you?"

Pressing into his palm, she inhaled shakily. "My father always preferred Mahanon over me. He loved me deeply, I know, but Mahanon earned his praise while I was an afterthought." Silence reigned for a moment before she let out a hoarse chuckle. "Mahanon was the talented one, the one gifted with magic. I was the troublemaker, destined to become just another hunter."

"Ir abelas, vhenan," he murmured, pressing close to brush his lips onto her cheek. "I did not realize the suggestion would cause you pain."

"It doesn't cause me pain," she answered, turning her head and shifting onto her side to face him. "I'd just prefer to let Mahanon honor our father whenever he has a son." She lay her hand on his cheek, smiling sleepily. "And you don't need to apologize."

With another humming sound from deep in his throat, Solas took her hand from his cheek and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles. "Give me some time to consider a name," he said. "It is…odd to consider my child bearing my father's name."

Solas couldn't quite shake the instinctual uneasiness that rose within him, like a splinter in his skin, when he considered using his father's name for this new life. He despised superstition, but found the icy grip of fear at his throat—that bone-deep, primal dread that rose in him when he worried that something might happen to Ellana or their child—still stirred it as if to spite his normally rational mind. Yet simultaneously he did long to honor the memory of his parents, to redeem himself in this small, simple way. To overcome his uneasiness with the name he resolved to take his time deliberating until he could come to grips with it.

"Of course," she answered with a small smile, then yawned and grimaced, trying to stifle it. "We don't have to use that one either…"

He squeezed her hand. "It is a good name and I would like to use it." Chuckling, he released her hand and laid his palm over her belly. "How could I deny our child the name it has chosen for itself, after all?"

She laughed, snuggling closer, as much as the roundness of their child allowed. "Careful or you'll spoil him," she teased.

"Oh, I intend to, vhenan," he purred, stroking her hair. Her quiet, affectionate laughter in response filled him with a hazy, comforting warmth as he descended into sleep.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You cannot do this," she said, her voice raw and her throat burning with emotion. "You _cannot."_

"I will _not_ sit idle while our enemies move in to kill us," Solas growled. "Do not ask me to do that."

"Then we simply ask to end the peace talks," Ellana said, voice quaking. "But you cannot kill Celene. You're better than that, _Fen'Harel."_


	33. Roamer of the Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana's brother drops some real life spoilers. Solas haunts some dreams, making pacts and issuing orders. Rebellion is coming, but Ellana really doesn't want to be part of it.

The heavy boughs of the massive trees in the Emerald Graves were covered in pinkish buds that made Ellana think of ripening fruit. Fiddlehead ferns had begun sprouting from the fertile black earth, the intricate yellow-green spirals making her mouth water at the memory of their succulent taste. Though the forest around her was empty and seemed real, Ellana could feel the subtle song underlying it and knew this was a dream and she wasn't alone—her brother was here somewhere.

She strode around the massive tree to her right, touching it with one hand to feel the rough bark. Green Fade ether rose like mist, curling around her legs as she walked. With just a thought Ellana imagined it becoming flower blossoms and the ether immediately formed the pink-white flower petals, fluttering like feathers in the wind, stirred up by her every footstep.

"Creators damn it," a familiar male voice grumbled.

Grinning, she circled the tree further until she saw Mahanon standing in the clearing ahead. Sunlight streaked in through the bare branches overhead, catching his brown hair and highlighting the reddish strands, setting them alight. Sensing her presence, Mahanon whipped around to stare at her, eyes wide before he relaxed with recognition.

"Asamalin," he greeted her with a nod and a warm smile. _Sister._

She returned the nod. "Isamalin." _Brother._

"Did you find me or did I draw you here?" he asked, spreading his hands to indicate the forest around them, though Ellana knew he didn't mean the Emerald Graves. None of the scenery around them was real, though Ellana knew she hadn't been the one to shape it. Mahanon had done that, carving the Fade subconsciously with his surroundings as he slept.

"To be honest I'm not sure," she said, smiling sheepishly, one hand still on the rough bark of the tree to her right. "I was thinking about you as I drifted off to sleep and next thing I knew I was here." She shrugged. Dreaming had proven surprisingly easy for her since touching the Fade and having lessons with Solas on how to shape it. Yet she'd assumed she wouldn't be able to reach out to Mahanon. Outside of the rune circles where they'd restored the Fade, Ellana was still just a rogue archer, sensitive to magic but unable to cast.

Then again, she'd been able to share dreams with Solas in Skyhold years before they restored the Fade. Yet Ellana had always assumed that was the Anchor at work, along with Solas' own impressive abilities as a Dreamer.

"I was hoping to mesh minds with Rinaya," Mahanon admitted with a lascivious grin. "Solas told me sharing with a lover might make it easier."

Ellana laughed, breathless as she asked, "He said that?"

Mahanon's hazel eyes crinkled with amusement, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. "Something like that."

Striding closer, her jaw dropped as she saw all trace of his vallaslin—he'd chosen Dirthamen, god of secrets—had been removed. "You're barefaced."

With an almost embarrassed shrug, Mahanon averted his gaze and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah…Deshanna removed it for me."

"Solas taught our Keeper the spell to remove vallaslin?" Ellana asked, surprised. "When did he have a chance to do that?" They'd been so busy expanding the rune circles, restoring the Fade in the Emerald Graves; Ellana didn't think Solas had had a chance to revisit the glade deep in the forest near the ruins housing the eluvian where clan Lavellan had camped. Clearly she'd been wrong to think that, unless Solas had done it in a dream of course.

Mahanon looked at her with a quizzical expression that warped into one of amusement. "Back when he first visited the clan in the fall."

Ellana raised both eyebrows, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes," her brother replied, smirking in the way she recognized meant he knew something she didn't. Usually that particular glimmer in his hazel eyes meant he'd painted a rune onto her bow that'd give her a shock, or he'd cast a freezing spell on her hot dinner while she wasn't looking. Of course Ellana had returned the favor plenty of times. Pranking with Sera had been second nature to her after growing up in the clan.

But how could he be about to prank her in the Fade?

With a huff, she crossed her arms over her chest. "All right, Maha—what are you up to?"

He grimaced at the moniker, just as she'd intended. "If you're going to use a nickname, Lana, call me Han."

She rolled her eyes, though her lips curled in a playful smile. "Anything for you, Han," she teased, batting her eyes the way she'd often done to imitate Rinaya when her friend flirted with Mahanon when they'd been teens. "As long as you come clean."

"Come clean about what? I don't know what you're talking about!" He smirked, smug and self-satisfied. Pivoting on one foot, he twirled his staff, sending loose bolts of lightning crackling through the air. Ellana felt the magic prickling her skin and knew her brother was stalling for time just to annoy her.

She wished with a brief spurt of irritation like hot pins and needles over her, that she could pay him back in kind. Curious, she focused outward for a moment and felt the incorporeal grip of the Fade in the back of her mind. Her stomach flip-flopped with excitement at the discovery. Apparently she didn't truly need the Fade to be restored to the waking world for her to manipulate dreams.

Concentrating, Ellana waved a hand casually at the Fade ether, imagining it solidifying out of the air as water. Then, clenching her fist, she jerked it back toward herself. The green ether rose up around Mahanon in a little vortex, ruffling his clothes and hair. Then it condensed and became water, splattering over him in a cascade, as if an invisible giant had poured a bucket of water onto him.

Mahanon spluttered, spitting and shaking his head, baffled for half a second before he shot her an annoyed look. "Cute, Lana."

She shrugged, examining her fingernails innocently. "I did ask you to come clean, didn't I? The shower would help, I thought."

He shook his head, sending water flying around him like a dog shaking out its fur. "What in the great beyond did I do to you to earn such mistreatment?" he asked with mock-outrage, clucking his tongue. "You are a terrible sister!"

Snickering, Ellana gestured again at the air, summoning a wind to form from the Fade. The trees rustled, whispering as it blew through the branches and stirred the underbrush as it tugged on Mahanon's clothing and hair. "Here," she teased. "Let me help you dry off."

With a grunt, Mahanon cringed against the wind and raised one hand. A mild _whump_ sound cut through the air and the wind Ellana had summoned broke against the greenish shield Mahanon held. He grinned at her look of astonishment. "I've been practicing."

Snorting, Ellana used her other hand to will Fade ether to fly at him from the opposite direction, transforming into water as it crashed against his skin. Mahanon spluttered again, losing focus and letting the greenish shield he'd willed into existence dissipate into mist. He growled under his breath and shot her a real glare now. "Fenedhis," he grumbled. "I don't know how Solas puts up with you for five minutes, let alone an eternity bound as—" Cutting himself off, he stammered. "Uh…sorry."

Ellana stared at him, her muscles stiff with shock as his only half-uttered meaning sank in. "What?"

Mahanon groaned, turning his head up to the sky and wincing against the sunbeams striking his face. "Me and my big mouth." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, "I take it he hasn't asked you to become his bondmate yet?"

"No," Ellana said, her heart suddenly lurching into her throat, each pulse sending something warm and pleasant shooting through her. "We've been a bit distracted by the peace talks. Though it's been more like a death trap so far."

Her brother snorted, scowling. "Yeah, I heard. Solas touched my dreams last night and told me he killed _three_ assassins." Snarling, he flashed his teeth with outrage. "Filthy shem bastards." Then, releasing a breath that seemed to make him shrink a bit, Mahanon softened as he said, "I'm glad you are both unharmed."

"As am I," she murmured, resting a hand over her belly before abruptly grinning and willing her dream self to be lean. A moment later she smoothed her palm over her flat abdomen and laughed.

"Neat trick," Mahanon commented. "Let me try." Tilting his head down, he stared at his own flat navel and his brow furrowed with concentration. Ellana watched as long seconds passed before her brother finally muttered under his breath with frustration and shrugged. "Okay, so this whole reshaping the Fade thing doesn't come naturally to me, yet."

Ellana snickered at his expense for a moment before she felt the flutter in her abdomen as the baby kicked at her stomach. Her bladder seemed to tighten, making her grimace. Tracing her palm over her flat front, she said, "It _is_ just a trick. He's still in there raising a ruckus, just like his father."

"Speaking of his father," Mahanon said with a sheepish look. "Can you not tell him I let his plans slip?"

She laughed. "My lips are sealed, isamalin."

* * *

The edges of Briala's dream were blurry where it melded into the raw Fade. Solas lingered at the boundary, sensing the Marquise's presence in the scene ahead of him. An unfamiliar Orlesian mansion stood before him, encircled by iron-wrought bars and earthenware walls painted in rich white. Wooden trellises lined the walls in some spots, allowing ivy and morning glory vines to crawl up the structures. Brilliant blue-purple morning glory flowers had opened in the dimness of the early dawn, true to the plant's name.

Greenish wisps moved through the yard ahead, unformed and vague, drifting toward him. They were spirits, intrigued by Briala's mind and memories, mimicking what they'd seen of her life in this dream. Yet now they sensed him, like moths drawn to light, and had begun floating toward the boundary of the dream to investigate him, leaving Briala deeper within. Alone.

Solas kept his mind closed to these spirits, giving them nothing to mimic just yet. He had chosen to present himself as he did in life, wearing the full headdress of the Dread Wolf. Yet, unlike in reality, he'd opted to wear the vestments of Elvhenan—a flowing, colorful silk woven with silvery strands that shimmered like water. The real robes Solas remembered had been imbued with magic, resistant to all the traditional schools of magic and able to throw up a barrier around him when it sensed hostile magic. Sadly the ones he wore in the waking world were a pale substitute.

" _You shine,"_ the nearest wisp whispered to him, speaking in elven. _"Your thoughts bend the world, curling, twisting, and new. Why can we not taste your mind?"_

" _I have come to watch, da'len,"_ he answered, addressing the wisp the same way he would an elven child, a smile curving his lips. " _I am curious."_

He often had to reassure spirits such as these that he held the same interests as they did and only hoped to observe rather than shape or change the Fade. These wisps, though simple in consciousness, recognized him as a Dreamer and, more importantly, a being who didn't fear them or wish to get rid of them. He was friendly, therefore they were friendly, but as with most harmless wisps these spirits were mainly motivated by curiosity.

Once they understood his intent they drifted away, as if losing interest in him. In truth, Solas knew they had merely returned to the drama of the dreamscape they'd shaped for Briala. Much like Cole, they'd returned to their original purpose, which was sating curiosity. If Solas had been cagey with them these wisps would've continued investigating him, driven by their very nature to learn more about him.

Wisdom had been a spirit of curiosity once, in her distant "youth." Or so she had told Solas. Thinking of her again made something tighten in Solas' chest, but he pushed it aside, knowing the wisps would react if he felt anything too strongly here.

Stepping into the yard, Solas felt lush grass underfoot, cool and damp with summertime dew. He made his way along the wall, aware of two wisps that had shaped themselves into lithe, shadowy elves. When he snuck glances at them out of the corner of his eye Solas saw them in great detail—they wore green breeches and white tunics with gray vests. In their hands they carried gardening implements: shears, spades, and a bucket for collecting food or flowers out of the garden. But when Solas looked at the elven gardeners directly their colors and shapes seemed to run into each other, losing definition.

This was the mark of wisps creating a dream rather than reenacting a powerful moment of history. Briala's own memories provided the inspiration, but because she was but one woman the wisps had less material to influence them. They could sense his attention when he did stare at them and reacted by losing definition, trying to read him for his input. Spirits on a battlefield or in a ruin were always harder to influence, becoming more like a force of nature that could readily ignore Solas. But with sleeping dreamers the wisps were like clay, ready and eager for the sculptor's hands.

And they knew he was a sculptor like none they had seen for millennia.

Solas brushed his finger along a morning glory, smiling at the delicate beauty of its color, the fragility of its satiny flesh. "A most exquisite replica," he praised the wisps. They flashed, glimmering in his peripheral vision. Though they weren't spirits of pride, they did experience happiness at such praise, much as Cole was joyful when he eased others' pain.

Walking along the iron-wrought fence, past ivy damp with morning dew, Solas circled around the mansion, ignoring the wisps posing as servants or nobles scattered about the garden. Briala's consciousness was a heavy shadow in his mind, a distortion in the Fade that buzzed with the distinct energy of a physical, living being's presence. In the back of the mansion, beside a crystalline pool with brightly colored fish—more wisps, actually—Solas spotted Briala.

She was sitting on the grass, her form vague and shadowy, poorly defined. With little natural connection to the Fade as a non-mage due to the Veil's strangling influence, Briala could never touch it as completely as Solas could. Yet the wisps could still draw her here to pierce her memories and thoughts, reproducing her view of the world.

Solas stopped about five meters from her, staring for a time. Briala leaned forward over the pool slightly, moving to dip a blurry finger into the water. The fish, wisps with flowing fins in a rainbow kaleidoscope of impossible colors, swarmed to her, nibbling toothlessly at her finger just as real fish would.

"Marquise Briala," Solas finally said, speaking in a low voice.

The hazy figure lifted her head, gazing at him. Because she was so loosely connected to the Fade, Solas couldn't make out her features clearly enough to discern whether she recognized him. He _could_ force her deeper into the Fade with but a thought, gripping her spirit and dragging her dangerously from her body. Dreamer mages could kill inside the Fade, after all. It was a skill he'd employed on countless occasions, when the need arose.

"Dread Wolf?" she asked, pronouncing his name slowly. Her finger stayed dipped in the pool. "I should have known." Now she withdrew her hand from the water, flicking her fingers. The fish fluttered in the water, as if flying or floating rather than swimming. "This is an especially vivid dream. Is this your doing?"

It wasn't, really. Most sleepers forgot their dreams quickly after waking. Briala might not even remember this later, unless Solas wove a little magic over her to enhance her memory of it. Still, there was no harm in letting her think anything and everything she deemed out of the ordinary—even if it wasn't truly unusual—was actually his doing.

With a deep chuckle in his throat, Solas strode a few steps closer, letting himself enjoy the way she shot to her feet and backed away. "Are you frightened, da'len?" he asked her, keeping his voice faintly teasing. "I had hoped you above the superstitions of the Dalish."

She remained motionless, her face cloudy and too blurry to read. "Are you a demon?"

Flashing a grin, he said, "If I told you no, would you believe me?"

"Fen'Harel stalks the land of dreams," Briala said, shifting her stance between one leg and the other. Solas noticed that when he turned his head slightly, gazing at her using his peripheral vision, the Marquise was dressed in the same breeches and humble tunic as the gardeners. He noted that unconscious representation, filing it away as interesting and…hopeful.

She gestured to the pool with the impossibly beautiful wisp-fish. "Those fish are…too much. They can't be real. So, I know this must be a dream. That means you are either a demon or Fen'Harel." Falling silent a moment, Solas heard her breathe in deeply. "Since I am no mage, I find it hard to believe I have suddenly attracted a demon's attention."

It was true that demons rarely found mortals without magic to be interesting. Demons could be lured to possess anyone, even a Tranquil, but a sleeper like Briala was normally immune to demon interest.

Solas spread his hands. "Then you have your answer, Marquise. I am Fen'Harel." Clasping his hands behind his back, Solas raised his chin, staring at her from under the shadow of his headdress. "And I have come to extend my gratitude to you for your warnings regarding the poison."

"Is that all?" she asked.

Solas inclined his head in appreciation. "It is not. It has not escaped my notice that these so-called peace talks with Orlais were never intended to achieve peace. Empress Celene and her fellow Orlesians have no intention of elevating the People. Would you agree?"

"Celene has made concessions," Briala hedged, her voice hesitant.

"But she has not allowed you to rule as you will," Solas said, smiling humorlessly.

"No," Briala admitted, the single word rough with frustration. "Many of my attempts to protect my people have been pushed aside as politically disadvantageous. Celene's throne is no longer in peril, thanks to Lady Lavellan, but elevating me to Marquise has done little to change the hearts or minds of the other nobles, let alone the average Orlesian."

"And therein lies your greatest problem," Solas said, letting his tone darken and his lips twist slightly. "Despite the power you have been granted, you have been unable to achieve significant change because the humans will never allow it." Squaring his shoulders, Solas began to pace, slow and deliberate, alongside the pool with his hands tucked behind his back. "The difficulty you face now is one I have confronted before. I learned it is impossible to affect substantial change while acting from a position of shared power. Those who share power with you will always oppose you and undo your work. True change occurs only when rebellion has undermined those who oppose you."

Pausing, Solas stared obliquely at Briala, trying to read her expression. Unfortunately he found her face was still blurry, obscured by her poor connection to the Fade. Her body language was tense and alert, wary perhaps but not yet hostile.

Keeping his voice even, Solas told her, "And the greatest change comes only when those in power have been removed. Permanently."

Briala edged backward a step, one hand rising as if to ward him away though he'd come no closer to her. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Smiling tightly, Solas asked, "What do you believe I am suggesting, da'len?"

"Celene is a good woman," Briala hissed, shaking her head. "She has brought stability to Orlais. The Inquisitor put her in power, personally. You cannot mean to…" She broke off, sucking in a deep breath.

Her reaction confirmed for Solas that the empress and the Marquise were still lovers and he fought off the scowl of frustration—and the bitter bite of regret. He'd hoped that their ardor had cooled and that Briala would place her emotional entanglements behind her in favor of the People. She had done so before. Turning his head to stare off at the mansion, Solas admired the wisps walking about in the guise of elven servants, stooping to trim rose bushes and weed around garden beds. He didn't let any of his emotions rankle too greatly, knowing that if he did the wisps would change the dream and could alarm Briala enough to wake her.

"What was it you said to Lady Lavellan and I when we arrived at the winter palace for these peace talks, Marquise?" he asked softly, a grim note underlying the words as he quoted her, "'We will have peace whatever the cost.'"

"Killing Celene would only cause chaos in Orlais," Briala blurted, shaking her head vehemently. She fell silent for a moment, her breath loud and whistling. Then she said, "You're bluffing. This is a trick. You hope to manipulate me into coercing Celene into giving you land from the Dales." Scoffing, she took a step closer to him, one hand rising and jabbing a finger toward him accusingly. "You are surrounded on all sides by loyal Orlesians. Celene can call for your arrest at any time. You're as good as already trapped, Fen'Harel."

"Is that so?" he asked, amused.

The pool beside them had changed from its beautiful, crystalline blue to a deep, oily black that began to froth as the wisp-fish inside became tentacles. Briala looked down at it and made a little noise in her throat—fear. Solas hadn't been the one to inspire the change in the spirits creating this scene. Briala had only herself and her own fear to thank for it, but she naturally assumed it was his doing.

"I will not be frightened by your toothless threats," Briala said, snarling. "Celene is under threat of assassination all day, every day. Your assassins would never get anywhere _near_ her."

Solas flashed a hard, cold grin. "Then it is a very fortunate thing for the empress that I am lying, no? Except, you do not truly believe that. You are of the People. You know I am far from toothless. It is why you told me of the poison. You hope to achieve peace, but Celene has decided these negotiations can only end in death. If she does not begin treating these negotiations seriously, I will be forced to ensure she receives the end she always expected."

He paused, looking to the black, bubbling pool with the reddish tentacles curling out of it. Waving a hand at it, he willed the Fade and the wisps with it to return to the tranquil pool. He let himself feel admiration for its beauty, wishing to see it again. The wisps and the Fade leapt at his input. The water cleared, the brilliant cerulean returning, brighter than before and shining iridescently.

Briala had withdrawn a step at his action, gasping. Now she stared at the pool, and though her blurry face obscured the emotion she felt, Solas could see her form shaking. The Fade reacted to her as well—clouds formed in the sky overhead, the morning light darkening with the promise of a violent storm. A moment later Solas heard the first patter of raindrops on the grass.

With a little hum from his throat, Solas said, "Should the empress fail to see that she must treat Lady Lavellan and I seriously, I can see no outcome other than chaos for Orlais. Should such events come to pass, I would hope a certain elven Marquise would react favorably and perhaps find herself in a position of even greater power."

The rain fell around them, a thousand tiny impacts. The air filled with a heady scent of wet earth and growing things. Silence stretched out as Briala stood before him, stiff and motionless. Finally she murmured, "Give me some time…hahren."

"Of course," Solas said with a nod. "I will expect some sign of concession from the empress within three days. If she will not see reason, then ask her to end this farce and send us back to the Dales. We will simply take what she will not give us." He hesitated a moment and then lowered his voice into a growl. "And if assassins come for us in that three days I will be forced to return the favor. Our agreement will be dissolved."

Now the Marquise reached out as if to stop him, but thought better of it as she withdrew her hand. It clenched into a fist at her side. "There will be more assassins. Will you allow the three days to continue if I provide warning?"

Solas hesitated, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "You risk exposing yourself, da'len. The empress will suspect duplicity."

Briala snorted. "She already did. But when one of your bodyguards was wounded…"

Now Solas felt heat spring to his face, scalding his blood. He quashed the reaction, refusing to let the Fade or the wisps sense it. Lyris being wounded in the attack had convinced Celene that Briala hadn't completely turned against her. He said nothing, his thoughts stormy and his mind clouded as he wrestled with the desire to simply cut corners in this game of deception and intrigue. He could leave Briala's dream and find Celene's consciousness in the Fade, assuming the empress was sleeping. It'd be easy to kill her or destroy her mind…

But he had to make contingency plans first. If the empress "died" suddenly in her sleep Halamshiral would descend into chaos and Solas needed to be certain he and his entourage could escape it. Such was the downside of being visible. He wanted to sigh, thinking, _The things I do for ma vhenan._

"I expect warnings for all assassination attempts over the next three days," Solas told her, firm and authoritative. "I will do my best to ensure we appear unprepared for them."

"Thank you," Briala said and dipped her head in an exaggerated nod that served as a bow. Then, under her breath, she added, "Fen'Harel enansal." _Dread Wolf's blessing._ It was the passphrase she'd used for the eluvians long ago, though it'd also become a formalized goodbye that his agents used.

"Three days," he reminded her and then, with his right hand, he flicked a bit of bluish magic toward her.

The Marquise flinched as the light swirled over her. "What are you—"

"A memory aid," Solas told her, his hand returning to his side as the light faded over her, harmless. "Nothing more." Pivoting on one heel, he strode toward the nearest wall enclosing the mansion's land. Without even bothering to motion at it, Solas willed it away. The section of earthenware wall in front of him disappeared, revealing the raw Fade on the far side. Solas walked through it, knowing that to Briala he'd seem to just dissolve from her awareness.

In the raw Fade, he drew in a deep breath and thought of Zevanni: her cinnamon skin and brown hair, the sound of her voice. The Fade responded, as it always did for him even with the Veil strangling his magic, and when he opened his eyes he saw her standing in an open meadow with a circle of eight Tevinter magisters surrounding her. Sensing him, she whipped to stare at him, a grin curving over her mouth. "Fen'Harel. I was just practicing my favorite game: shemlen slaughter. Care to join?"

The magisters she'd summoned out of Fade ether all wore snarls of hatred over their faces. Blood dripped from the fingers of their right hands while the left ones glowed with red magic. Solas had met her performing the same exercise in her dreams before, taking out excess rage on Fade constructs while wisps and spirits watched her curiously, drawn by her bloodlust. The demons were never far behind, but they'd sense from far away that they had no hope of taking control of her.

"I have a little time to spare," Solas admitted with a hard smile. "But perhaps you'd prefer a change in scenery. I imagine you must tire of Tevinter."

She rose from her battle ready stance, eyebrows raised with interest. "You have my attention, Fen'Harel. Where exactly did you have in mind?"

Smirking, Solas said, "That will depend on what happens in Halamshiral, in this charade of peace talks I am currently ensnared within. But, for now, I cannot help but think the Exalted Plains have too many shemlen infesting them. Would you agree?"

Her grin was wide and eager. "I think the rebellion in Tevinter can do without me for a few weeks."

"Excellent," Solas purred, the cold smile never leaving his lips. He would have to instill some restraints on Zevanni's bloodlust before he set her loose on the Exalted Plains, but the Orlesians needed to feel his teeth. They needed to see they'd made a mistake assuming they could stop him. They'd pay the price in blood as he showed them what the People could do as a united force with an Evanuris to lead them.

"When do I begin?" Zevanni asked, slashing a hand through the air and making the circle of angry magisters dissolve into green mist.

"As soon as you waken," Solas replied.

* * *

Mathrel rejoined their bodyguard retinue that morning at breakfast, positioning himself inside their room as Ellana and Solas waited for their apothecary and taster to deem their breakfast safe to eat. They'd been transferred to another room within the guest wing while their first room was cleaned of bloodstains. Yet, despite that, Ellana couldn't relax and kept glancing to the floor and the closed door where she knew she'd have seen Lyris' blood if they were in their old room.

Sun streaked in through the closed windows and Ellana could still sense the crackle of ice wards that Solas had cast the night before and left active now, though he'd had to deactivate the ones along the door and the wall. It should have been a cheery setting, but Ellana found her spine was stiff, as much from the ever-increasing weight of her baby and from tension. The food on its tray, an assortment of pastries, fruits, and spicy sausage, smelled appetizing and made her mouth water, but remembering that it could be poisoned made her stomach clench.

"How is Lyris?" Ellana asked Mathrel. She knew from Solas that Lyris had awoken the previous day in the evening, groggy and weak. Mathrel had stayed at her side in their much simpler chambers, doting on her.

"Still weak," he replied in a rough voice, scowling. "Without the Fade to enhance healing she remains vulnerable."

Ellana nodded somberly, remembering at how quickly and thoroughly she'd recovered her own strength after being shot with Sera's arrow. Casting a sideways glance to where Solas stood, staring out the window at the courtyard below, she tried to read his mood. He'd been quiet since they'd woken, distracted by some inner turmoil. Without the wolf headdress on she could admire the smooth roundness of his head, the strong profile and jaw. Though it made her heart drop to think it, she knew he was holding back, plotting something. Getting him to come forward with it was like trying to convince a dragon to become a vegetarian.

The apothecary and taster both deemed the breakfast safe to consume. Despite that reassurance Ellana and Solas ate sparingly. She watched Solas as he sampled slices of cantaloupe, grapes, and apples, but avoided the pastries and only ate a few bites of sausage. Her dream with Mahanon kept leaping into her mind, wondering at how Solas could plot rebellions and consider formalizing their relationship at the same time.

She tried to find the right words to say to force him to talk about whatever was going on in his mind, but eventually Solas shot her a look of concern, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Something troubles you, vhenan?"

She sighed, leaning back into her seat as much as she could and resting her hands on the shelf of her rounded abdomen. "You're up to something, Fen'Harel," she said, deliberately putting emphasis on his Evanuris name. "I'd appreciate it if you'd clue me in."

He frowned down into his plate, holding a grape clasped between his thumb and forefinger. Lips twisting, eyes narrowing, Ellana could see the struggle over his expression and knew he was weighing his decision right in front of her. She held her breath and waited.

Solas had worked with her closely in the Emerald Graves as they expanded and restored the Fade to the forest. After their rocky start with the first group of hostile human bandits, Solas had kept her informed. Ellana had even been part of the retinue of elves sent to encourage humans in a villa or small settlement to leave. It had fallen to violence more than once, leaving Solas no choice but to kill those who resisted, and Ellana didn't begrudge him that. The humans had a phrase for just such scenarios: You cannot make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.

Finally Solas cut her a sharp gaze, his blue eyes piercing and cold with his formidable intelligence and cunning. "I have made a pact with the Marquise. If she honors it we will see the peace talks end before that time or progress toward a favorable resolution." He popped the grape into his mouth, chewing at a relaxed pace and swallowing before he spoke again. "The Marquise also promised to alert us of any other assassination attempts."

Ellana blinked, a smile leaping onto her lips. "That's excellent news," she said, breathily. Yet she couldn't quite dismiss the darkness couched inside her, that heavy suspicion that saw the hesitation and grimness in Solas' clenched jaw and inability to meet her gaze for more than a few moments at a time. He'd resumed eating, though his expression showed no sign that he took enjoyment from the food. It was an autonomous action, done to fuel his body, lacking gusto.

"Yes," Solas murmured without looking to her. "But she may not honor it. We could be arrested at any moment."

Now Ellana froze, her heart suddenly in her throat. "Oh."

He glanced at her, a small smirk over his mouth. "There is more to tell you, but I do not wish to speak of it outside of the Fade."

"And if we're arrested?" Ellana asked, one hand dropping lower to wrap around her abdomen protectively. She wondered if the Orlesians would execute her while she was pregnant or if they'd wait for her to give birth and then order her death. She wasn't sure which thought was worse and felt suddenly queasy considering it.

He answered her in a low voice, "If they were foolish enough to make such a move I would show them why the People believed the Evanuris to be gods."

With a little shudder, Ellana nodded. Even without the Fade she reminded herself that Solas had easily fled the winter palace's prison and the control of four Templars. And she'd seen him petrify two of the three assassins that'd come for them on the first night of the pace talks—all without breaking a sweat as far as she could tell.

Solas reached for her hand where it still rested over her belly. The heat of his palm jolted Ellana out of her reverie, making her meet his stare. "Whatever comes," he said quietly, his eyes dark and somber, "I will protect you."

She clutched his hand in her own and squeezed. "I know."

Smiling tenderly, Solas reached with his other hand, laying it over her neck and brushing her cheek with his thumb. Ellana leaned closer to him and he took the initiative, crossing the gap to kiss her. His hot breath puffed over her cheek, his lips soft and sensual against her own, and suddenly her heart was pounding out of something very different than the fear of before.

Then a knock came at the door, the distinct sound of knuckles against the wood. They ignored it for several seconds, still engrossed in the abrupt but passionate kiss. But when a second knock came and Mathrel cleared his throat in an unsubtle reminder that they weren't alone, Solas pulled back from her. They stayed together for a few more heartbeats, sharing the same air, feeling the heat of the other's skin radiating outward.

With a sigh, Solas withdrew and called to the door, "You may enter."

Abelas, one of three bodyguards standing watch outside, swung the door open and stepped inside. With a little dip of his head he said, "A servant has arrived to take away your meal."

"That's fine," Solas replied curtly. Ellana didn't miss the note of irritation in his voice. The animosity between her lover and the sentinel wasn't getting any better with the passage of time or with the fact that Abelas had asked for his vallaslin to be removed.

Abelas left the doorway to admit a lean young servant girl with wide, owlish eyes. She advanced at a tentative pace as Solas and Ellana rose from the small table to allow her to take the food tray. Anticipating that they'd soon be on their way to the drafty pavilion, Ellana crossed to the bed and grabbed up her coat. Behind her she heard the serving girl whisper in elven: _"Fen'Harel enansal."_

"Do you speak for the Marquise?" Solas asked in a quiet voice, deep and rough.

"Yes," the girl replied as Ellana turned round to watch the interaction, still buttoning up her coat. The girl's owlish eyes blinked at Solas, awed by him even without the headdress.

"Dirthera," Solas commanded her. _Tell._

"The bathwater tonight will be poisoned," she said, her small voice trembling. "And the Crows will come for Lady Lavellan during the talks today."

"For me?" Ellana asked, mouth ajar with surprise. "During the talks?"

The serving girl stared at Ellana's belly a moment and then dropped her gaze to the floor, her cheeks flushing red. "They will wait in the garden for you, near the privy. They hope to take you alive."

"Ma serannas," Solas thanked her, sounding calm and cold, but Ellana saw his hands had curled into fists at his side. "Take the trays and be gone."

"Fen'Harel," she said with a curtsy and scrambled to grab the trays.

Solas glowered gloomily at the floor as she scurried out of the room. Then, to Abelas, he said, "Get out and close the door." Once the sentinel had done as he asked, Solas groaned angrily and scrubbed at his face with both hands. Ellana saw the slight tremor in them and moved immediately to his side.

"It will be fine," she said, laying a hand over his bicep. "Briala has honored her pact with you. She's warned us."

"This cannot continue," he spat, snarling at the floor.

"What choice do we have?" Ellana asked, shaking her head. "I have been a target for years now, ever since I became Inquisitor. We just need to endure. I won't be alone. I can bring my bow and I have the Anchor if—"

"No," he growled, shaking his head. "After today the empress will know Briala has turned and cannot be trusted. She will find a way to keep the Marquise ignorant of the next attacks." A wrinkle formed at the bridge of his nose. "I have tried to do this as you wish, vhenan, but I cannot risk you."

"I've always been at risk," Ellana protested, frowning.

He turned his head, staring at her as if she'd suddenly started speaking in Qunlat. "This is not Skyhold. You are not the Inquisitor. You are a pawn to them and they will use you to get to me."

A spurt of brash anger stabbed through Ellana, making her brow knit and her body snap taut. "I'm really tired of everyone telling me I'm a pawn." She couldn't stop her own dark thoughts from reminding her that she was Solas' pawn too. Her left hand tingled, the mark still sleeping but undeniable in its power. If the Crows were to capture Ellana it wouldn't just be an emotional trauma for Solas, it'd permanently disrupt their campaign in the Dales.

Solas shot her a look of misery. "You will like what I'm about to suggest even less, vhenan."

She arched an eyebrow. "And that is…?"

His blue eyes cast around the room quickly, as if to verify that the only one who'd overhear them was indeed Mathrel. The stoic warrior stood beside the door, unfazed by the news of the coming assassination attempts. Solas licked his lips and turned to face, her, laying his hands over her shoulders and whispering, "Unless the empress ends these talks and allows us to leave peacefully, I will kill her and take Halamshiral."

"What?" Ellana asked, gawking. She let out a brittle laugh when he merely stared at her, silent and somber. "You cannot be serious. There are only a few dozen of us—fifty at most. We cannot possibly—"

Solas interrupted her, "Have you forgotten that Halamshiral is populated almost exclusively by city elves? Even now they call to me for _mien'harel."_ His expression was grim as he squeezed her shoulders, but beneath that darkness Ellana thought she saw something eager, as if the revolution and violence he spoke of were a delicious meal he'd longed to try. "Between the city elves and those we brought with us—and myself—we could quickly overcome the Orlesians here."

"If Celene is dead," Ellana murmured, frowning. Orlais would fall into chaos, with the empress not having named an official heir yet. Her cousins and other relatives would squabble and the country might devolve into another bitter civil war. In the resulting madness the Dales would be considerably easier to claim.

Ellana could see the cruel logic behind Solas' thoughts and sighed, her eyes stinging with the thought of the man she'd fallen in love with as a gentle, wandering apostate being remembered by humanity as a monster. The People might revise their opinion of him for the better, but Ellana thought of Cassandra, Dorian, Cullen, Leliana, Rainier, and all the other humans she'd called friend over the years and felt as if she'd vomit. Her body started to tremble though she tried to control and suppress it.

"Vhenan?" Solas asked, one hand going to her cheek and then brushing through her hair. "Please…"

"You cannot do this," she said, her voice raw and her throat burning with emotion. "You _cannot."_

"I will _not_ sit idle while our enemies move in to kill us," Solas growled. "Do not ask me to do that."

"Then we simply ask to end the peace talks," Ellana said, voice quaking. "But you cannot kill Celene. You're better than that, _Fen'Harel."_

He winced at her use of his Evanuris name. Eyes dropping to the floor off to Ellana's left, Solas scowled. "You have far too high an opinion of me, vhenan." His eyes drifted shut. "Let us forget we discussed this, for now. Briala may come through for us. We may yet walk free and return to the Dales unhindered to resume our work there."

"This will have been a huge waste of time," Ellana muttered with a frown of her own, shoulders slumping. "I truly thought we could achieve peace. I thought with all I did as Inquisitor they would listen and give us the Dales, keep their promise…" Staring up into his blue eyes, she squeezed his arms where she held him, willing him to understand. "We have to give this a chance. We have to give it everything we've got to be sure it won't work."

Solas' blue eyes were dark with sorrow as he pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "Ir abelas, vhenan," he murmured, pinching his lips together as he spoke. "But I see no hope of it working." He gripped her right hand in his. "Come, we must be on our way."

Ellana let him tug her toward the door. "You promise we will discuss this further? You won't take any action without consulting me first?"

He shot her a sideways glance and then quickly faced forward again as Mathrel moved to open the door. "Of course."

Maybe it was just because he wasn't looking her in the eye when he answered, or perhaps it was the slight hesitation underlying the words, but Ellana realized she didn't believe him.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

The door whined on its hinges as Dorian stepped through with Mathrel glowering just behind him. Dorian held a large laundry basket out before him, his lips curled in a sneer. "Some palace servant just dropped by with this. I thought you'd want to know it positively _reeks_ with the stench of deathroot distillate." He dropped the basket on their floor unceremoniously and twined his mustache with one thumb and forefinger idly as he smirked. "Someone did a rather half-assed job of trying to cover up the deathroot stink with a bit of lavender."

"You know your poisons," Ellana said, unable to hide her surprise. They'd been expecting this attempt on their lives, but it was reassuring to see they had another ally to ferret out foul play.

Dorian scoffed. "I'm Tevinter, old girl. If I didn't know poisons, I'd be dead. It's always a toss-up which way someone will try to kill you back home. Poison in your wine, or blood magic in the bedroom? Odd that you Southerners only think we use the latter."


	34. When Crows Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another assassination attempt, Solas solidifies plans for rebellion and conquest, despite Ellana's protests.

"It was like any other winter night," the teenaged girl said from the small podium off to the right of Ellana and Solas' table. She stared into her lap, idly fingering the buttons on her thick silk brocade bodice. "Papa was away until the spring on business. Mama was left to tend to our estate over the winter. I was reading by the fire in the main hall when Bernard, the head of our guards, came to me asking that I waken Mama." She swallowed almost audibly, her lips trembling. "He said there were elves at the gates and they demanded— _demanded_ —that we leave."

Ellana stared off into space, focusing on the white sheet laid over the table she and Solas sat at. It was soft, smooth, and thick, likely a rich silk similar to the teenager's bodice. The human girl had blond hair put up in an elaborate style of braids, ringlets, and curls that must've taken hours of work by some elven servant's dexterous fingers.

This teenager was one of dozens of witnesses who'd been forced to flee the Emerald Graves over the previous six weeks. The empress had called out a seemingly endless supply of such witnesses to testify against them and demand that they make recompenses. It was a stalling tactic, a way for the "negotiations" to continue without actually getting anywhere. Beside her, Ellana could feel Solas seething with impatience, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table where no one else could see them. Yet his face, shadowed by the headdress so only part of his nose and lips were visible, was impassive and revealed nothing.

"I woke Mama and we received a dozen of the savages inside, even though I thought such pleasantries with them wasted," she spat, shooting a sidelong glare at Ellana and Solas. The teenager stabbed a finger in their direction. " _She_ was one of them. Mama said she was the Inquisitor, the woman who saved us from the Breach." Her lips drew back in a snarl. "But she's just a filthy knife ear."

Ellana managed to keep herself from frowning or rolling her eyes—just barely. She had a vague memory of meeting with this girl and her mother, explaining as patiently and politely as she could that the Emerald Graves belonged to the People and they must leave. She'd also advised them that the following afternoon they would be removing the Veil in the local area, restoring the Fade to it. Most humans reacted with horror at such news, though few choose to flee based on Ellana's words. It usually took the sight of a few hundred elves swarming over their villa to convince them their lives would be in danger if they didn't obey.

"Lady Lavellan _was_ the one responsible for closing the Breach," Cassandra put in with a scowl. "She _is_ the former Inquisitor and you would do well to remember all she has done."

Ellana cast a small smile toward the Divine in gratitude and saw Cassandra return it with a subtle tug at the corners of her lips. At least not everyone was set against them here.

"She made us flee through the cold and the snow," the teenager cried. "Made us leave our home! Now all my nice things are spoilt by those filthy savages."

"Funny," Ellana blurted with a snarl. "I seem to recall humans doing the same to my people a few centuries back when they took the Dales—not just our homes, but _our homeland._ "

The teenager scoffed, sneering at her. "The Dales belong to Orlais!"

"Not for much longer," Ellana retorted.

"Silence," the empress shouted in her deep, nasally voice. "We will have silence for the testimony."

"We grow weary of this, Empress," Solas said, speaking in a cool, clear voice that carried only a hint of irritation. "Your endless tirade of witnesses is a pointless waste of time. We do not deny that we claimed the Emerald Graves, or that in doing so we have forced many out of their homes. We allowed them to take as much of their belongings as they could. We did not chase them into the cold to freeze to death. Hardships are inevitable during times of strife, but we have come here to ease the transition." His tone dropped, becoming low and dangerous, promising blood. "You would do well to take us seriously. We will have peace no matter the cost."

The words were the same ones Briala had spoken to them on the day of their arrival and the Marquise flinched hearing them repeated back to her. All morning Briala had seemed ashen and tense, her gaze straying and lingering on Solas or darting away and glazing over as she turned her mind inward. Ellana wondered at what had transpired between Solas and the Marquise. Inevitably Solas hadn't told her everything.

With the pressure in her bladder mounting after a little more than an hour—which was a remarkably long time and possibly a personal best—Ellana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Solas looked to her, his jaw clenched with tension. They both knew every bathroom break she took today would put her at risk.

"I agree that these endless witnesses are a waste of time," Cassandra said, a groan underlying her words. "We should begin discussions as to the fate of the Emerald Graves and the Dales."

"I second that," Briala added with a stiff nod.

"We disagree," the empress said, tilting her head back and glaring down her nose at Ellana and Solas. "The people of Orlais have suffered unspeakable affronts on their persons and properties in the Emerald Graves. They must be acknowledged before we can go forward."

Ellana rose out of her seat as gracefully as she could. Although the motion drew everyone's attention immediately none of them appeared surprised or alarmed. By now her frequent bathroom breaks were little more than a source of sniggering gossip from the gallery audience behind them. Ellana heard them whispering and snickering now.

"Perhaps we might pause a moment," she said in as patient a voice as she could manage.

"Of course, my lady," Briala said. The other two women around her nodded in agreement.

Then, unexpectedly, Solas rose from his chair as well. Baffled looks followed him as he tailed Ellana, as close as her shadow and just as wordless. Ellana thought she saw a tense glance from the empress before the pale monarch seemed to turn her attention to picking at her nails. Doubtless, she'd expected Ellana to head to the privy with only one or two bodyguards. A Dalish first, Shila, was indeed leading the way to the doorway leading out into the garden, but now Solas had joined their entourage and Mathrel with him. The empress had to know the assassins lying in wait stood little chance against them after two foiled attempts.

Outside the air held a touch of warmth in it, radiant with sunlight and hinting at the first real touch of spring. At her back she felt Solas' magic prickling her skin, making the Anchor tingle. They crossed the small section of open grass to the tent that served as the privy. Shila checked inside, one hand elevated to cast and the other clasping her staff in a defensive posture. Apparently finding nothing, she withdrew, leaving the way open for Ellana.

Pausing, Ellana scanned the gardens, taking in the potted plants and bushes lining the smooth, pale walls. Most of them had begun to bud by now, the first fragile flowers visible in varying colors: red, pink, white, and even some in purple. The wall of the pavilion lay to their far left, curling away in the massive shape of an octagon. The grass looked a little lumpy beside the privy tent, as if the gardeners had been preparing to do some additional landscaping. There seemed to be no danger, no sign of assassins at all. Yet Ellana's heart still thundered inside her ears.

With a gentle nudge on the small of her back, Solas encouraged her to step into the tent to relieve herself. Ellana sucked in a breath to steady her nerves and ducked inside it, pulling the tent flap closed behind her and fighting back the inevitable blush of humiliation as she imagined the other elves overhearing. Just as she'd finished and secured her pants again, she heard a strange noise—a high-pitched whistle that was similar to the birdcalls her clan used. She had just enough time to freeze, considering the sound, when a clattering, clinking noise came and her companions erupted into shouts.

Ellana pushed open the tent flap, her hands flying to where she kept a dagger up her sleeve. Outside she saw three assassins had dropped from the pavilion roof. The sound she'd heard had been the noise of the terracotta shingles under the assassins' feet and hands as they slid down it.

Then there was a rustling sound and the scream of fabric tearing under a blade to her right from inside the tent. Ellana whipped to face it, the dagger clutched tightly in her hand. A figure in black and coated in dirt lunged for her through a gap he'd cut into the tent. In the confined space, and with her pronounced pregnancy, Ellana couldn't quite evade him or thrust with the knife. In a few moments he'd gripped her wrist and twisted it, forcing her to drop the blade. She cried out with pain through gnashed teeth and felt his hand clap over her lips to stifle the sound. He smelled of sewage, nauseating her instantly.

Outside she heard the buzz of Mathrel's spectral blade and the icy hiss of Shila's ice stave. She kicked and thrashed as her assailant wrapped a tight arm around her middle and began dragging her toward the ragged hole he'd cut in the tent wall. As the full sunshine hit her again, Ellana's eyes streamed and she tasted bile in her throat at the putrid scent from the man's skin. She soon saw why he smelled as he did—the disturbed earth she'd seen beside the tent had actually been used to hide a manhole leading to the sewers under Halamshiral.

An impact shook her, carried through her assailant and into her. The world spun and she felt hard rock fragments graze her skin. She caught the glimmer of green in the sunlight and knew Solas had hurled a Fade rock with great precision, hitting her captor but not her. They fell in a heap, arms and legs tangled. She had a moment to brace for impact, fearing what it might do to her baby as much as herself. But then she saw a bluish streak and felt a waft of freezing air. Arms caught her around the shoulders and knees before she hit the ground.

Breathing fast, she clung to her savior, already knowing who she'd find when she tilted her head up to look—Solas. His blue eyes had focused beyond her and downward. They flashed a pale purple and she heard the gravelly rasp behind and below her that she now knew meant he'd petrified the man who'd tried to take her.

As the unnatural light left his eyes, Solas focused on her. "Vhenan, are you—"

Before he finished speaking pain streaked through her left hand, hot and sharp. Simultaneously she heard the crackling hiss-pop of the Anchor flaring to life. She released him and cried out, curling against his chest as much as her belly allowed, gritting her teeth. Voices called out around her, but she couldn't make any sense of them through the haze of pain.

The world shifted and she dimly realized Solas had settled her on the grass and disturbed dirt beside the open manhole. Clutching her left hand in her right, she tried to breathe through the pain and regain some semblance of composure. Solas pried her left hand out of her frantic grasp and held it in his own. Magic prickled her skin and searing pain tore through her palm. Vertigo and pinpricks of phantom light obscured her vision for a few moments before the pain receded.

She found herself propped up against Solas' knee and one arm, panting and coated in sweat. Solas still gripped her hand, green light spilling through his fingers, but the pain had diminished into little more than a faint ache in the fine bones of her palm. She sagged against him, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion seemed to transmute her limbs into lead.

"Ma serannas," she thanked him breathily before darkness swept over her.

* * *

In the aftermath of the attack six assassins lay dead, scattered around the privy tent. Three had dropped on Shila, Solas, and Mathrel from the roof. Two more had leapt over the low wall beside the tent that separated these gardens from the palace courtyard beyond. The sixth and final assassin had burst through the sod that'd been used to hide the manhole nearby and made straight for Ellana. Solas had petrified the three dropping from the pavilion roof and then left the remaining three to Mathrel and Shila, stalking the man who'd come after Ellana instead.

Now she was cradled in his arms, limp and unconscious, sweat beading around her hairline. He shot a glare to the assassin who'd tried to take her. The man had been petrified in his spot on the ground where he'd fallen, memorialized as a warning to others. If only the empress and Orlais would start heeding it.

A few elven servants and a pair of Orlesian guards had come running around the sides of the pavilion and now stood several meters away, gawking. Solas felt his face burning with rage at the attack, though a quick survey showed him Mathrel and Shila were unharmed. Still, he'd used stronger magic around Ellana one too many times and set off the Anchor again. She'd been able to use it well enough in the Emerald Graves, but how much longer did they have before it destabilized? Once it did destabilize they'd be unable to access the Fade outside of the areas they'd restored to draw new runes.

They'd need to find a new way to restore the Fade to Thedas…or tear down the Veil entirely as he'd originally planned. Even if it caused his death and required him to kill the sleeping Evanuris in the Black City…

This sham was a waste of both his and Ellana's time. They should be spending every waking moment restoring the Fade, reclaiming the Dales from Orlais. Alliances would come after the rest of Thedas saw they had little choice in the matter. The People _would_ have a homeland again, whether the humans approved or not.

 _Three days,_ he cautioned himself, trying to calm the furious pounding of his heart that pulsated through his temples at the sight of his beloved, ashen and weak. But new plans were already spinning inside his head. In only two days Zevanni would be at his disposal, no doubt aching for blood…

Shifting Ellana into his arms, Solas stood up and spoke to Mathrel and Shila in a low voice. "Let us return through the pavilion and alert everyone that these mock negotiations have ended for today." He snarled to himself, flashing his teeth. "I'm sure the empress will want to know how her latest assassination attempt has gone."

Shila led the way, opening the door to the pavilion. Solas walked up the short stairs and into the area, glowering as he felt the weight of everyone's stares land on him. Cassandra's jaw dropped and she shot to her feet. "What has happened? Is she all right?"

Ignoring her, Solas stopped in front of the panel where the empress, the Marquise, and Divine Victoria were all seated, Ellana still curled in his arms. "Empress," he said with a cold growl. "I believe you may want to investigate the security in your gardens. I've just dispensed with six assassins and this time you'll find plenty of evidence. Now, if you'd be so kind as to excuse me, I believe I've had enough of this charade for one day."

Celene stared at him, her eyes narrowed with disdain. Without waiting for her to dismiss him or officially declare the council ended for the day, Solas turned on his heel and strode for the exit, cutting through the center aisle of the audience. Nobles and other distinguished guests gossiped and glared, their words hissing but often still audible.

"Assassins? Truly?"

"More likely Lady Lavellan fainted. My brother's elven serving girl died carrying an elf-blooded child."

"Have you _seen_ the belly on her? There's no way the child isn't part human."

"Of course, it's the Inquisition commander's child, you know."

Scowling, Solas strode through the pavilion doorway, ignoring the thumping tread of footsteps hurrying up behind him until he'd crossed the threshold into the hallway and heard Mathrel call out, "Stop right there."

"I most certainly _will not,_ " Dorian's familiar voice rejoined hotly.

"Stop or I cut you down, shem," Mathrel snarled.

Solas pivoted to face the Tevinter mage. "Atisha, Mathrel," he said as he met Dorian's concerned gaze. "What do you want?" he asked.

Dorian snorted. "Do you _really_ need to ask what I want?" He gestured at Ellana. "Is she all right? Just tell me that much."

"She is unharmed," Solas replied, the downward twist of his lips easing slightly at the tenderness and worry he saw in Dorian's face. This was one of the few humans Solas knew would never harm Ellana, even if doing so would allow Dorian to stop him.

"The Anchor," Dorian guessed, his brown eyes darting over her limp form in Solas' arms. "It was the Anchor, wasn't it? She used it to protect herself from this latest batch of charlatans, yes?"

 _No, my magic caused this—_ I _caused this,_ Solas thought but nodded in confirmation of Dorian's more innocent assumption. "Now," he said quietly, letting his shoulders slump slightly. "If you're quite satisfied, I'd like to return to our rooms so she can rest properly."

Dorian edged a step closer but Mathrel raised an arm, blocking him. The Tevinter sneered at him before entreating Solas again. "Please, let me join you. Just until she wakens. You could use another bodyguard, no?"

"We do not need a Tevinter shem spy," Mathrel snarled.

"Well," Dorian said with a sniff. "It's a good thing I spy for no one but myself, isn't it?"

Solas hesitated, recalling the almost-friendship he and Dorian had once shared while also considering the usefulness of his fear-based necromancy spells. Assassins who succumbed to such spells would lose their nerve and flee, making them easy to kill and eliminating the chance that Solas would have to use stronger magic around Ellana. It'd also mean Solas' people suffered fewer injuries, and while Lyris was still weak Solas was out a valuable bodyguard.

"Let him accompany us," Solas said and almost smirked at the way Dorian's eyes bugged out with shock.

Mathrel also twisted around to shoot Solas an incredulous stare. "Fen'Harel?"

"Dorian is trustworthy," Solas explained. "And possesses useful talents."

"Well now," Dorian stammered with an almost sheepish expression. "That's the most sensible thing I've ever heard you say, Solas." Blinking as if surprised by himself, he scowled. "Or Fen'Harel or whatever it is you want to be called."

"I do not care what you call me," Solas shot back with a frown of his own. "I am merely concerned for Ellana." He turned, seeing Shila ahead of him in the hall, tense and alert. "Let us be on our way."

* * *

Ellana came awake in a haze of dull, aching pain that cut across her abdomen. Hissing through her teeth, she curled onto her side only to stop short as she felt a hot, sweaty hand clasping her own. Peeking through bleary eyes, she saw Solas lift his head, lips parted and his expression dark with concern.

"Vhenan," he said, his voice hoarse. "Are you in pain?" Shifting in the seat he'd apparently pulled up to the bedside to watch over her, Solas brushed at the hair that'd fallen onto her forehead and cheeks.

The aching cramp continued, like scalding fingers worming through her innards. Her toes curled and uncurled, writhing as she wanted to. She wanted to answer him but her throat was too tight with the sudden cold grip of fear. Releasing his hand, she fumbled with both of her own, feeling over her belly, pressing against the cramp and gritting her teeth.

"I'd say that's a yes," Dorian's voice spoke from the foot of her bed. "Definitely in pain by the look of it. Perhaps someone should send for a healer?"

Despite the ongoing pain, Ellana raised her head, gawking with surprise. Sure enough she saw the Tevinter standing at the foot of the bed, still dressed in his usual silken, fashionable finery as he wrung his hands together and shifted his weight from side to side. "Dorian?" she asked, gasping his name.

Solas let out a small huffing breath and Ellana saw the glare he aimed at Dorian. It would've been comical if not for the fact her body distracted her so.

Dorian flashed a sheepish smile toward Solas. "Ah, I see. Perhaps _I_ should find the healer, no?" Looking to Ellana again, he nodded as his features softened with sympathy. "Hold on, darling, I'll only be a moment."

As he whipped around and strode for the door, Ellana let her head fall back to her pillow, heaving a long breath out. Solas rose from his chair and sat at the edge of the bed, his hands moving with the confidence and professionalism of a healer. Dexterous fingers unbuttoned her coat and felt over and around the surcoat of her armor beneath to reach the chainmail, which she'd had to adjust and let out repeatedly as the child grew.

Ellana thought hazily that he must've done a fair amount of healing on battlefields and in the wilderness—he certainly had during their years in the Inquisition—but he'd professed to having no experience with expectant mothers, so she held little hope that he'd be able to do much for her now other than provide comfort. She stared up at him, trying to swallow her fear and find her voice. It was too soon for this to be real labor and they both knew it. She was still weeks away, despite everyone's comments about how large she'd grown.

A faint tingle of cooling magic spread out from Solas' hand on her navel, easing the aching cramp. She shuddered, sighing with relief. "Thank you," she whispered, rasping.

"Are you bleeding?" he asked quietly, brow knitting and eyes pinched with worry.

"I don't know," she admitted, still languishing in the lack of pain, the comfort of his healing magic as it soothed her. "I don't think so."

She rolled her head to one side, taking in the room and observing the hue of the light coming in through the windows. It was a rich gold, indicating the sun was high in the sky—afternoon, then. The last she remembered it'd been morning. As if to confirm her suspicions that she'd been unconscious for several hours, she realized her bladder was full, though that was little surprise. It seemed to never stay empty these days.

 _"Te'nu vunlanal_ , perhaps?" Solas suggested, arching both eyebrows. _False labor pains._

"I hope so." She managed a wan smile and fumbled for his hand when he withdrew it from her abdomen. "What is Dorian doing here?"

His lips curled with tenderness. "He was concerned for you and considering the number of assassins determined to kill us or capture you, I saw little point in turning him away." Ellana snorted, chuckling shallowly with her surprise and Solas cast her a stormy look, as if she'd offended him. "I am hardly unreasonable, vhenan. I may dislike him but—"

She gasped, the sound silencing him as she felt the baby give a fierce kick inside her. Solas reached again for her belly, magic glowing against his palm and fingers, but Ellana caught his hand, shaking her head against the pillow. "He just kicked hard, that's all. The pain is gone for the moment."

Relief spread over his features, becoming the wonder she'd often seen when he tried to feel their child moving. She guided his palm to where she'd felt the baby kick and they waited a few moments before a look of concentration narrowed Solas' blue eyes and Ellana felt the tickle of magic wash over her skin.

"What are you up to?" she asked.

He flashed a warm smile. "Saying hello."

As if on cue the baby squirmed, kicking against its father's hand. Ellana let out a little gasp and Solas' smile widened into a grin. He pulled his hand back, the glow of magic fading and spoke in a tone of mock-astonishment, "I do believe our child is sensitive to magic. Who would've ever suspected such a thing?"

She chuckled, though she winced as it tightened her abdominal muscles, jostling her bladder. "Yes, it's not as if his father is some kind of mage. Quite the opposite in fact."

"Yes," Solas agreed with a laugh of his own. "Since everyone knows this child is _actually_ Commander Cullen's."

Wrapping an arm around her belly for support, Ellana began bracing to sit up. "Everyone's going to be shocked when this baby's born with enormous pointed ears and as bald as Fen'Harel, not to mention casting veilfire from his cradle." Grunting, she heaved herself upright only to groan, holding her head as the room spun.

Solas laid a steadying hand on her shoulder, helping her rise from the bed. The cramp came again, cutting through her, and Ellana hissed as she tried to double over. Solas pulled her arm over his shoulders with one hand while the other slid beneath her surcoat again, the cooling touch of his magic dulling the pain immediately. She shuddered, breathing hard with relief.

"To the privy, I assume?" he asked.

She shot him a sidelong look, smirking. "You know me so well."

With Solas' help she made it to the privy and relieved her overfull bladder, thankfully discovering no sign of bleeding. By the time she'd finished Dorian had returned with a familiar face: Inan, the healer Josephine had procured for Ellana months ago during the Exalted Council.

"So good to see you again, my lady," the healer greeted her, though her gaze kept flicking to Solas, who sat once more at her bedside. "You are her partner?" she asked him, though her tone of voice suggested she already knew the answer.

Solas gave a nod but remained silent. It was Dorian who answered verbally, sighing behind the healer and drawing everyone's stares with surprise. "Yes, sadly, he is. I'm afraid palace rumors are just that—rumors. And no, before you ask, I don't know what she sees in him."

"Dorian," Ellana scolded.

Solas frowned. "I'm beginning to regret my decision to let you stay, Tevinter."

"I must examine her," the healer said, giving little reaction to the banter between her patient and the two mages. She motioned at Dorian. "It would be best if you stepped outside, magister."

Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes. "It's _ambassador,_ really."

"You _are_ a magister now," Ellana reminded him.

"Yes," Dorian huffed, indignant. "That may be true, but she doesn't know it, she's merely assuming it because I'm from Tevinter." He clucked his tongue as he turned and headed for the door. "You Southerners…"

When they were alone, the door closing with a gentle thump and clack, Inan bowed and said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Ellana laughed, shaking her head as her eyes flicked between Solas and the healer. "Of _course_ you recruited her."

"I am elven, Lady Lavellan," Inan said, her voice sharp with something akin to irritation. "When the news of our people reclaiming the Graves with the Dread Wolf's aid came to Halamshiral, I leapt at the chance for mien'harel." Her eyes flashed, fierce and vibrant with devotion as she looked at Solas. "It has been a very long time in coming."

"Indeed it has," Solas replied, somber and yet smiling. "And I welcome your service, lethallan. I have every intention of bringing the People the freedom they have long deserved—and much sooner than any expect." The ominous note that crept into his words made Ellana stare at him, a cold chill passing through her.

"I am glad to hear it, hahren," Inan replied before turning her attention to Ellana. "Ir abelas, lethallan, but I must examine you, if you would allow it." She shot Solas a look, seeking his permission as well. He granted it with a slight dip of his head.

For the next few minutes Ellana answered Inan's questions and submitted to her ministrations, letting the healer feel over and press on her belly to measure it. Finally, when Inan was satisfied, she withdrew and let Ellana don the clothing she'd shed for the examination. The healer wore a reassuring smile as she announced her findings to both expectant parents.

"He's a bit bigger than I'd have expected," she said. "But everything seems normal. I suspect your pain is false labor—your body is practicing for the real one, which I believe will come in perhaps two weeks."

Ellana blinked, surprised to hear the estimate she'd heard a few weeks back from a healer in the Emerald Graves was apparently off. "I thought I had longer to wait," she commented, shooting Solas an anxious glance.

"You have led a busy life throughout your pregnancy, Lady Lavellan," Inan said, her tone soothing. "That often speeds the process. Also, this is your first child. He will likely come faster than any other children you bear, but the labor will be longer."

"Do you have any advice for me?" Ellana asked, hands over her belly protectively.

Inan nodded. "You should be resting more often. Save your strength for the delivery. Avoid strenuous activity and stress. We do not want your body to rush him out too quickly, after all."

"I can't just lounge around here," Ellana protested and then sighed, rubbing her face and grimacing at the grimy sensation that came back on her fingers. "And with all the assassination attempts it seems avoiding stress is about as likely as Empress Celene agreeing to just hand over the Dales right now." She gave Solas a lopsided smile. "Do you think we can ask the countless assassins after us to cut us a break?"

Solas' expression was dark with anger, his brow knitted and his lips pinched unhappily. "I fear not, vhenan."

The rumble of menace in his voice made Ellana tense, sending a faint echo of her previous cramping pain through her abdomen. She rubbed at it, wincing as she wondered how this affected Solas' plans. Yet she suspected she already knew and it wasn't good. He'd been constantly protective of her, worried for her and their child, and it'd made him ready to take extreme action to try and safeguard her. She wanted to dismiss the twitchy, cold grip of fear inside her that suggested no matter what Celene or Briala or Cassandra did from this moment forward, Solas would kill the empress and claim Halamshiral in a violent revolution. He'd proven himself more than capable of making ruthless decisions in the past and carrying them out when pressed…

Mythal—through Morrigan—had even warned Ellana of things spiraling out of control this way. Too bad Ellana had no idea how to regain control over the situation and Mythal, as usual, had offered no concrete advice. Other than insisting Solas not do anything drastic, what _could_ she do when she could no longer run or fight properly, as heavy with their child as she was?

A knock rapped on the door then, drawing their attention toward it. Solas was the one who reacted, rising out of his chair and clearing his throat as he called, "Who is there?"

"Me," Dorian's voice answered, dryly humorous, "I just thought I'd inquire as to whether you wanted these poisoned bedsheets they're trying to deliver."

Inan paled, looking to them with alarm as Solas said to Dorian, "Come in and we will discuss it."

The door whined on its hinges as Dorian stepped through with Mathrel glowering just behind him. Dorian held a large laundry basket out before him, his lips curled in a sneer. "Some palace servant just dropped by with this. I thought you'd want to know it positively _reeks_ with the stench of deathroot distillate." He dropped the basket on their floor unceremoniously and twined his mustache with one thumb and forefinger idly as he smirked. "Someone did a rather half-assed job of trying to cover up the deathroot stink with a bit of lavender."

"You know your poisons," Ellana said, unable to hide her surprise. They'd been expecting this attempt on their lives, but it was reassuring to see they had another ally to ferret out foul play.

Dorian scoffed. "I'm Tevinter, old girl. If I didn't know poisons, I'd be dead. It's always a toss-up which way someone will try to kill you back home. Poison in your wine, or blood magic in the bedroom? Odd that you Southerners only think we use the latter."

Smirking at Solas, Ellana said, "Still regretting letting him stay, emma lath?"

* * *

As evening settled in Solas thwarted another poisoning attempt by refusing bathwater drawn for Ellana by the palace servants. Instead, the Dalish and city elves he'd brought with him from the Emerald Graves oversaw the work, acting in the palace servants' stead and then, for extra security, he let the apothecary test it anyway. Dorian examined it as well and pronounced it untainted before leaving them for the evening and promising to return to visit the following morning.

While Ellana bathed Solas accepted a draught of sedative Inan recommended for her, to help her sleep should more false labor pangs waken her during the night. He pocketed the mixture of herbs, knowing he'd suggest she add in a dose to her usual serving of tea before bed.

Seeing Inan out, Solas visited briefly with Mathrel and Abelas, his daytime guards outside the room—though he did little more than acknowledge the now barefaced sentinel with a nod. He still didn't know how to interpret the other elf's behavior, but he assumed it was merely part of some ploy by Mythal. Unfortunately he couldn't spare a talented warrior like Abelas right now. In the Graves he could assign the sentinels elsewhere, sending them on raids or into skirmishes as they claimed new land, but in the winter palace he needed everyone he could find who he knew wouldn't stab him or Ellana in the back or try to poison them. For all Mythal's scheming, he knew she wasn't out to _kill_ him.

At night, three Dalish replaced Mathrel and Abelas as bodyguards: Lerand, Samhel, and Shila. Combined with the powerful wards Solas set every night, he was confident they wouldn't be attacked without _some_ warning. After their sparse evening meal—they always ate little from the bountiful amounts of food the Orlesians provided out of the lingering fear that the apothecary and tasters would miss something eventually—Solas showed Ellana the dosage for the sedative Inan had provided.

"Just a pinch, hmm?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as he stirred it with a finger, foregoing the fancy golden spoon on the tea tray.

"I am familiar with these herbs," he admitted with a soft smile. "I have used them often myself. A pinch is more than sufficient, yes."

She chuckled as she accepted the cup from him, settling back on the pillows. "And when have _you_ ever needed to take sedatives? You're the soundest sleeper I've ever known. Even Mahanon doesn't sleep as deeply as you do, and _he_ once slept through lightning striking the tree our aravel was camped beside."

Solas laughed at her description as he moved about the room, dousing the candles by casually waving a hand at them to snuff them out with a breath of spirit or ice magic. "I am sorry I must disappoint you, vhenan, but I have required these herbs many times, in fact. I seem to recall many nights at Skyhold when I found myself too restless to slip into sleep, let alone the Fade."

"And why were you so restless?" she asked teasingly as she took the first sip of tea.

"I think it had something to do with this very distracting Dalish woman who had the audacity to kiss me in the Fade when I was least expecting it." After extinguishing the last candle, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint blue glow of his wards and the milky moonlight through the windows, Solas returned to the bed.

"How very rude of this impudent shem-elf, making Fen'Harel uncomfortable in the Fade of all places." Her eyes glittered as she gazed up at him from her side of the bed, still sipping from her teacup.

"Ah," he said in his animated scholar's tone. "But it was not merely the Fade. She chased me in the physical realm as well. There was no way I could escape." Drawing back the sheets, he slipped under them as she twisted and set the teacup back on the nightstand beside the bed.

"Poor Dread Wolf," she crooned, chuckling as she scooted as close to him as her belly allowed, laying her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest. "How did you ever cope?"

Solas made a satisfied humming noise in the back of his throat as the fingers of one hand laced through her hair and traced her ear. "I gave in, of course." He rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing deeply as he smelled the fragrance of chamomile and vanilla from the soaps and oils she used in the bath—all of them supplies they'd brought with them rather than risk the Orlesians poisoning them.

Sighing and frowning to himself at that reminder of the danger they were still in, he regretfully switched topics. "After today's attacks I see no way the empress will trust Briala any longer. Going forward we will not receive such thorough warnings, if we receive them at all." His hand continued to tangle in her hair, feeling the silken tresses twining between his fingers.

Her breath puffed as she breathed, always a little faster than seemed normal as a result of the ever-increasing size of their child. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that if I were Varric I would place coin on our deaths due to poison or assassination." His voice was dark and rough but also cold and aloof. Considering their situation and the danger of it distantly let him see the inevitability of what must come. Detached from the emotional fallout that would inevitably follow from their former companions and allies, he didn't have to imagine the way any of them would react or how, in the chaos that'd follow Celene's untimely death and an elven uprising in the city, some of them might wind up dead.

"We survived multiple attempts without Briala's help," Ellana protested, the words strained. "I don't see how—"

"Lyris was almost killed," Solas reminded her hotly, his hand stilling in its progress through her hair. "She is still very weak. And the attack today would have succeeded, vhenan. If you had gone with Shila alone she would have been overwhelmed and killed. You would have been taken and held hostage, tortured or worse." The thought of it made his heart tighten with an agonizing pain. His eyes burned and he closed them, sucking in a breath to bolster himself and refocus.

Ellana stayed silent for a time before murmuring, "You're right, but we can be better prepared from now on. We won't be caught like that again."

"The only way to be certain of such a thing is if we act preemptively," Solas said emphatically. Swallowing the nervous pressure mounting in his chest, he added, "Tonight I will seek out Briala and unless she can tell me Celene is ready to treat these negotiations as a chance for peace rather than orchestrating our deaths…"

Ellana shifted, raising her head from his shoulder and staring at him, lips parted and eyes wide and moist. "No, Solas. You _cannot_ …"

He scowled. "Do not ask me to sit idle while our enemies close in with knives at the ready. I will _not_ lose you, vhenan—not when it is easily within my power to keep you safe."

Her expression creased, stricken as it wavered between something like anger and despair. "Please, emma lath. We fought to stabilize Orlais three years ago. You cannot kill Celene. She owes me her crown. She will come around if we just persist. Whoever replaces her will owe us nothing."

Solas scoffed, the heat of outrage and determination quickening his blood. "You place far too much trust in Orlais and the Inquisition. We do not require favors from Orlais. We will take what has always rightfully been ours. I will give the People what they have been owed since the fall of Elvhenan."

Ellana's eyes narrowed. "Is this about our safety or Fen'Harel's quest to redeem himself to the People?"

He flinched, lips curling and his hand, still over her shoulders, freezing. His heart hammered in his chest and his throat thickened, as if trying to close. What he'd said replayed through his mind and he could not help but recoil again, unsure of the answer himself as he realized suddenly how alike his own fledgling plans were to the Qunari's Dragon's Breath. Zevanni and the thousands of elves in the Emerald Graves had easy access to multiple eluvians and the winter palace had several of the mirrors in storage rooms, unattended and forgotten because they were inactive. With the foci in hand, Zevanni could easily open and take control of any eluvian she wanted and direct it wherever she liked.

Such an easy, clever trick naturally made Solas—or was it Fen'Harel's?—stomach flip-flop at the possibilities. The winter palace would be his in less than an hour. Halamshiral would erupt into violence as the city elves declared their mien'harel and slaughtered the nobles who oppressed them. In less than a day the capital city of the Dales would be his…

It had started as a means to end the assassination attempts, to ensure he, Ellana, and their people could flee in the chaos following the empress' death. Yet he could not deny how perfectly it worked as a means to conquer Halamshiral. He wouldn't even need to kill Celene, really. He could simply hold her captive and let her decide to do the right thing by giving the Dales to the People—or die.

"We cannot sit idle," Solas repeated, his voice tinny in his own ears as his mind continued to spin, aloof with shock at the possibilities. How could he _not_ do this?

She gripped his chin, frowning. "And _I_ cannot let you become a monster to the humans the way my people falsely remembered you. That is _not_ redeeming yourself, Fen'Harel."

He blinked, swallowing as he tried to push thoughts of conquest aside. Drawing in a breath, he sat partially upright to kiss her, perfunctorily but tender, before murmuring, "Ma serannas, vhenan. I…appreciate your thoughts on this matter. I will not harm Celene regardless of what I learn from Briala tonight." He felt a wave of heat pass over him and knew his cheeks were burning with the knowledge he was misleading her.

Because regardless of what Briala told him this night, he fully intended to take Halamshiral. Ellana would disapprove, but in time she would see he was right. Just as she had when she finally conceded he was right to prevent her from fighting the Forgotten Ones with his army.

* * *

**Elven used:**

_Atisha:_ peace, peaceful

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Raising his chin, Solas shook his head. "I can take the city and hold it against whatever comes…" He stepped back from the window and rotated on one foot to regard her with a pinched expression she couldn't quite read. "If I possess my full strength."

Heart thumping like a fist against her breastbone, Ellana stared at him with her eyes wide and jaw agape. She recalled his descriptions of the power the Evanuris had wielded on the battlefield—immolating thousands in flames that consumed them in seconds, summoning water from the air to drown them, or simply cracking open the earth and swallowing the enemy masses whole. It'd been hard to grasp the enormity of it when he told her of such things, and she'd been glad then that they'd been long forgotten and lost to time.

Except now, staring at him, she realized they hadn't been lost at all, merely dormant inside her lover.

**...And..  
**

"You didn't come to me asking for my approval," Ellana said, her voice somehow managing to be both a sob and a snarl. "You came here for the Anchor." Involuntarily, she whimpered, feeling it prickle, stinging against her palm, as if it sensed the nearness of its true master and longed to return to him. "Take it. Take it back, Fen'Harel."

* * *

Author's note: and so, clearly, we are about to enter more of the angst train. Rereading this, I definitely see Solas' side of things really clearly. Ellana is stubborn and he's right that she's naiively placing a lot of faith in Celene and the other leaders. At the same time though, does Solas _really_ need to conquer Halamshiral to make his point? Like, sure, you _can_ do something, but _should_ you? But of course, we all know it's Solas, the same guy who thought giving Cory his orb to unlock was a super-clever idea.

And maq moon, I took your suggestion and decided to toss in an elven term for Braxton Hicks. All credit really goes to FenxShiral's Project Elvhen, though, as I just combined preexisting words to make this one! Te'nu vunlanal, basically te from tel ("not") nu ("pain") and vunlanal means giving birth.


	35. Don't Call Me Vhenan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas instigates rebellion and moves to take Halamshiral and the winter palace, against Ellana's wishes. Problem is, he needs her and the Anchor to make this effort a long term success.

A tight knot of nervousness lay in Ellana's stomach like a cold stone as she watched the sunlight gradually slide across the floor, reflecting the sun's gradual passage through the sky and over the palace. Solas had insisted she remain in their chambers resting rather than go with him to the pavilion for the futile peace talks this morning.

She would've refused the suggestion, but the false labor pangs had struck her before she could even finish breakfast. The rock hard contraction of muscles beneath her skin made her belly stiff and left her woozy and sweaty. It was easy then to agree to let Solas go without her, even if she still felt tense and agitated with worry and shame for staying behind.

So she'd spent the morning and afternoon finding entertainment through games and storytelling with her assortment of bodyguards—Mathrel, three Dalish elves, and Dorian who'd reappeared that morning insisting he could help watch out for poison. Lyris had also joined them, fully armored despite looking pale and weak. In the midafternoon Varric and Rainier had also stopped by, much to the elves' irritation and suspicion, but Ellana insisted they join her for several rounds of Wicked Grace. They hadn't been able to finish more than one game, however, because one of them always devolved into a longwinded, nostalgic story and they'd forget whose turn it'd been and have to shuffle and deal again.

"And so, there I am, hacking and slashing at that damned dragon," Rainier said, miming swinging motions from his seat at Ellana's bedside where he'd pulled up a chair alongside Varric.

The dwarf was sniggering, one meaty hand on his face. "I think I remember this one, Hero. Was this the Abyssal High Dragon in the Western Approach?"

"Don't spoil it," Dorian scolded. "I wasn't there for this one."

"Yeah," Ellana said, laughing as she shot Dorian a grin. "That would be because I couldn't _stand_ your constant whining about the heat and the sand."

Dorian clucked his tongue, his expression wicked with both amusement and something a tad harder that might have been disapproval. "Is that it, old girl? I thought it was because you preferred sharing a tent with a certain egghead elf."

"No," Ellana insisted, though she felt her face flush with heat. "It was definitely your whining that made me leave you at camp most of the time."

"Let Hero finish," Varric admonished with a chuckle.

Rainier smirked. "Yeah, like I was saying, there she was and I was the only one up close striking her. And I swear to the Maker, she looked back at me, right in the eye, then raised her tail and shat on me."

They burst into laughter. Ellana covered her mouth with one hand while the other gripped her abdomen, trying to steady herself. The anxiety within eased at the joy of these memories and she let herself forget, for the moment, her concern as to exactly what Solas might be up to at the negotiations. Beside the closed door, Ellana even saw Mathrel crack a tight, restrained smile and Lyris chuckled, shaking her head.

"I'm glad she didn't get me," Varric said as he caught his breath. "I'd have been literally buried in shit."

"Now I know what that smell on you was," Dorian quipped, grinning.

Rainier scowled. "I _did_ bathe, Dorian."

"Of course you did," Dorian sniffed, teasing his mustache. "But you must've missed a few spots. It's dreadfully hard to scrub your back without a partner after all, and Maker knows you Southerners don't have the scrub brushes to do it properly the way the Imperium does."

"Whose turn was it?" Varric asked, scratching his head.

"I thought it was mine," Ellana said, reaching into her tunic to grab out her cards from where she'd stowed them in her breast band, in her now ample cleavage.

Dorian snorted. "Really, Lana? Storing your cards in _there?"_

"Why? What's wrong with it?" she asked blushing, trying not to notice the way Rainier pretended to be absorbed with his cards, fumbling as he spread them between both hands.

Varric, for his part, snickered. "Don't knock it `til you've tried it, Sparkler. I'd bet the empress herself uses that particular method of storage. Most of the women I've known do."

"Yes," Rainier murmured, smirking. "I'm sure it's very handy."

Dorian laughed, slapping his knee. "Good one, man!"

Varric groaned, covering his face with one hand as he chuckled. "Maker's breath. Well, that tears it." He tossed his cards onto the bed. "I say we shuffle and start over. Again."

Rainier stifled his own bawdy laughter after a moment and cleared his throat, shooting Ellana a sheepish, apologetic look as he added his cards to the growing pile on the bed. "Forgive me, Lady Lavellan. Couldn't resist."

Despite the heat still in her cheeks, Ellana smiled back at him. "It's fine, Thom." Then, with a mischievous smile, she added, "I know you're all just jealous you don't have such a handy storage spot."

Varric laughed again, a bubbling sound that loosened the knot of anxiety inside her another inch. "You bet we are." His meaty hands, despite their thickness, proved dexterous as he grabbed up the cards form the center of the bed and started shuffling. "Say, speaking of betting, still refusing to put your money where your mouth is, Lavender?"

Ellana arched her eyebrow at him. "Lavender?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Can't call you Inquisitor anymore and _Lady Lavellan_ is way too formal for me." Cocking his head, he narrowed his eyes, considering her. "I'm not sure it's right just yet. I'm having trouble pinpointing a nickname for you."

"Varric," Rainier said with a mock-frown. "I'm disappointed. I expected something better out of you."

"Hey," Varric said, wagging a finger at him. "I'm allowed to run out of ideas sometimes. And I _do_ reuse nicknames occasionally." He feigned a gasp at their mixture of amusement and surprise at the little confession. "Shocking, I know, right?"

"You can call me Lavender," Ellana said with a shrug. "I've always loved that scent." A smile curled over her lips remembering the times she'd been able to smell the blooms in the Free Marches during springtime. Lavender bushes were common enough in the areas her clan camped that the scent had become hopelessly entangled with the rejuvenating promise of spring with all its blossoming beauty.

"I think it's atrocious," Dorian said with mock-derision. "You deserve better, old girl." He paused a moment, brown eyes narrowing as his expression sobered. "In more ways than the nickname, I'm afraid."

At the door Mathrel muttered something nasty in elven and then added, "Shem bastard."

"Ah, I remember you now," Dorian commented, snapping his fingers and pointing at the arcane warrior. "And I have the _perfect_ nickname for you: Broody. Or possibly killjoy. No, wait, that should be the sentinel's moniker, that _Abelas_ fellow."

"You will _not_ refer to me at all, shem," Mathrel growled.

Ellana scowled, throwing a glare at both men and shaking her head. "Didn't anyone tell you I'm in a very delicate state right now?" she grumbled, only half-playing as she motioned to her burgeoning belly. "No stress allowed."

"That's an impossibly tall order, Lana," Dorian muttered with a frown of his own as Varric began tossing more cards around their lopsided circle around Ellana's bed. "Considering the circumstances, I thought I was doing remarkably well."

"Always room for improvement," Varric said with a smirk before looking to Ellana. "You never answered my question earlier. Care to place a wager on the kid now that Chuckles is out of earshot?" He waggled his eyebrows in invitation.

Ellana laughed quickly before shaking her head. "No, I'm sorry, but no. I have to respect Solas' opinion on this. We didn't bet on children in the clan so I'm not about to start with my own."

"But you think it's a boy," Varric said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes and tugging at his lips.

"Yes, yes," Dorian grumbled with an eye roll. "Everyone's betting against me on this one." He huffed. "Is it too late to change my wager, dwarf?"

"I'm afraid so, Sparkler. _Someone_ has to lose, and right now that's looking like you and Sera. Oh, and Ruffles." He elbowed Rainier, who'd fallen silent as he sorted through his cards. "Did you catch that, Hero? _Ruffles_ is going to owe us some royals."

"Say what?" Rainier asked, his head popping up and swiveling around at the rest of the group. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention." With a sigh he rubbed at his face with one hand as he looked over his cards. "By Andraste, this has to be the single _worst_ hand I've ever been dealt." He slapped the cards face down on the bed near Ellana and groaned. "Fold."

Dorian gave a little high-pitched laugh. "Funny, I was about to say the same thing." With a flourish, he dropped his cards onto the bed as well and shot a mock-glare in Varric's direction. "I think _someone_ is cheating. Again."

"What you meant to say was _as usual,_ " Ellana said, surveying her own cards and finding it less than ideal.

"Oh c'mon now," Varric said, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "You all saw me shuffle the deck just now. How was I cheating?"

"I don't know," Rainier said with a good-natured chuckle. "Why don't you tell us?"

Before Varric could reply the door to the room opened, drawing all of their gazes immediately toward it as Solas strode through, tall and lithe, his face shadowed by the wolf headdress. Ellana sensed Dorian bristling, stiffening as he shifted in his seat, draping one arm over the back of his chair. Rainier and Varric both offered polite smiles, though Solas didn't return them as his head pivoted toward them, the corners of his lips quirking downward.

"Master Tethras," he said to the dwarf and then to the Warden. "Rainier. Please, I must ask you to leave." After a pause, he regarded Dorian as well, the small frown deepening. "And you as well, Dorian."

"I take it the peace talks went poorly," Varric said with a grunt as he began grabbing up everyone's cards again. He snapped a rubber band over the deck horizontally and then doubly secured it with one going vertical.

"More of the same," Solas replied, his voice cool and aloof. He tucked his hands behind his back, waiting with seemingly infinite patience as Rainier, Dorian, and Varric rose from their seats and returned the chairs to their various original locations around the room. Ellana watched them go with a small, anxious smile quavering on her lips, feeling the cold weight in her stomach as she anticipated bad news from Solas.

When the three humans and the dwarf had gone, she found her throat had constricted, as if invisible hands threatened to strangle her. The seemingly unending indigestion she experienced because of pregnancy scaled the back of her throat with burning heat. "Solas?" she asked tightly.

He pivoted slightly, casting a glance over his shoulder toward Mathrel and Lyris, who'd also tensed up, no doubt sensing something was amiss just as Ellana had. Speaking to both her and the warriors, Solas said, "Empress Celene has no intention of negotiating with us. We will never achieve our goals through these official channels. Her sole goal with these peace talks was to lure us here for the chance to assassinate us."

Ellana scooted over the bedspread until she could hang her legs off the side, ready to hoist herself to her feet. "Then we should leave," she said. "We can return to the Emerald Graves and continue expanding from there."

Solas' head turned toward her, his lips twisting up and then down, as if he couldn't quite figure out whether he wanted to smile or frown. "I see little point in retreat now when the situation may be turned to our favor, ultimately." He lowered his voice into a near-whisper, making Ellana and the warriors lean closer with looks of concentration. "I intend to take Halamshiral for the People in mien'harel tonight."

"Solas," Ellana said, gawking as her stomach clenched and seemed to careen to the floor. "You cannot be serious."

"I am, in fact," he retorted with an edge of irritation. "We intend to take the city with the Dales, do we not? Why should we not claim it now?" His voice darkened and a cold, closed-lipped smile spread over his lips. "There is no chance of achieving our goals in this current farce, vhenan. But no matter, we can best the empress without harming her and claim the Dales from Orlais by tomorrow evening."

"And how many innocent lives will be lost in your rebellion, Fen'Harel?" she shot back hotly, pushing herself off the bed and crossing her arms over her chest.

His lips pinched, but otherwise he gave no sign that her use of his Evanuris name bothered him. With his arms still tucked behind his back, Solas strode toward the nearest window, the golden afternoon light coloring his front. "Please," he said, the single word holding a ragged edge. "Do not argue with me on this, Ellana. I will require your help to hold Halamshiral."

"The whole of Thedas will hate you, hate us. Cassandra will declare an Exalted March. The Inquisition will come after us. Orlais, Ferelden, Tevinter…" She motioned, palms up, to indicate the whole room and by extension the world she spoke of. "You cannot expect to stand up to that. We would be crushed, emma lath" She sighed, still struggling with the lump of emotion in her throat. "Aside from that, it's not right. We came here to negotiate peace. If Celene won't honor that then we should just leave."

Solas' chin dipped down to his chest. "You expect that we can simply leave?" The anger hardening his voice was unmistakable. "Have you forgotten how often assassins accosted us, vhenan? The empress does not wish for this charade to end before our deaths. She will likely order our arrests should we try to leave openly."

"Then we leave in secret," Ellana insisted, heart pounding and her mouth dry.

Now Solas twisted at the waist and neck to stare at her, a small snarl curling his lip. "And leave our companions to the Orlesians' ire?"

She winced, realizing he was right. Shifting her weight from one hip to the other, she let her gaze fall to the floor in shame. This wasn't like their escape during the Exalted Council. They'd arrived with fifty or so other elves as bodyguards, caretakers, and servants. A number of them, including Lerand and Samhel, were from Ellana's own clan. Part of her could see the strategic value of Solas' suggestion, but when she imagined the lives lost and the hatred it'd garner from the humans all over Thedas…

Echoing his earlier platitude in a voice deepened by desperation, Ellana said, "Please, there must be another way. We could ask Cassandra and Leliana to provide our people a peaceful escort out of the city. We can take Halamshiral over time with the rest of the Dales."

Solas had turned to face the window again, his shoulders squaring. "I cannot let this chance pass us by, vhenan." The headdress shadowed his face from the golden light reflected through their window from the courtyard down below.

"You cannot do this," she said, both anger and fear making her choke on the words. "All of Thedas would rise against us. You _can't_ hope to fight them. It'd kill you and destroy the People—everything we've worked to accomplish would be lost."

Raising his chin, Solas shook his head. "I can take the city and hold it against whatever comes…" He stepped back from the window and rotated on one foot to regard her with a pinched expression she couldn't quite read. "If I possess my full strength."

Heart thumping like a fist against her breastbone, Ellana stared at him with her eyes wide and jaw agape. She recalled his descriptions of the power the Evanuris had wielded on the battlefield—immolating thousands in flames that consumed them in seconds, summoning water from the air to drown them, or simply cracking open the earth and swallowing the enemy masses whole. It'd been hard to grasp the enormity of it when he told her of such things, and she'd been glad then that they'd been long forgotten and lost to time.

Except now, staring at him, she realized they hadn't been lost at all, merely dormant inside her lover. Something flashed in the depths of his steely blue eyes, just visible despite the shadow of the headdress, a glimmer of eagerness, sharp like the edge of a blade honed to perfection. Ellana thought of the fierceness she'd seen in the eyes of her fellow hunters in the clan when they'd seen prey wander into their sights, the savage delight. Solas was the hunter, the wolf, and he'd found weakness in his prey that he could not stop himself from exploiting—even if doing so would catch him, and by extension their people and her, in a snare that'd kill them.

Abelas' words after her meeting with Scout Harding flew into her mind, echoing like thunder off hills in a storm: _…what we do with the power of the Fade restored to us_ will _be terrifying for the other races._ They'd barely found a way to taste the power of their ancestors and Elvhenan and already what they'd created in the Emerald Graves through slow, careful hard work wasn't enough. At least not for Solas.

Checking over her shoulder to where Lyris and Mathrel still stood guard, Ellana saw their expressions were tight with tension and…excitement. Was she the only one who saw this as madness?

"You're asking me to help you conquer this city," she said, quiet and somber as she stared down at the lush blue carpet underfoot. Her left hand opened and closed at her side, tingling as she thought of the Anchor. "You need to restore the Fade here to fulfill your plans."

"I realize you are opposed," Solas said, drawing closer to her as his voice softened. "But I would do this with you at my side, vhenan. I would spare as many lives as I could." He gave a rough shake of his head, jaw clenching. "And we have little choice. This is the quickest and safest way to execute your plans." He paused and she sensed him bristling with a small jerk of his shoulders. "Or Mythal's plans, as it were. But this is what you desired, need I remind you? I would not have chosen this path for the People, but it _has_ restored the Fade in a limited fashion, I will admit. However, we are too exposed and yes we _will_ draw the humans' ire, but there is no alternative."

 _Mythal's plans,_ Ellana thought, closing her eyes as a wave of vertigo hit her. Morrigan had warned her Solas would react violently to the threat against them. She'd encouraged patience and perseverance…but it'd failed. Another of Abelas' comments reverberated through her mind then—he claimed to have left Mythal's service, removed his vallaslin, because he disagreed with her plans. What plans?

Gazing up then into Solas' expectant, tight expression, she felt her shoulders slump. This was all the Game still, of course. And, as usual, Ellana was a pawn rather than a player since leaving the Inquisition. Solas needed her, used her for the Anchor. Mythal manipulated her for some unknown goal. Empress Celene had tried to abduct her as a hostage against Solas. Even Leliana had tried to bribe her away from Solas. When had she stopped being a leader in favor of being a tool that everyone fought over for control?

"Please, Ellana," he repeated, the note of urgency underlying the words robbing her of breath.

 _He'll do this regardless of what I tell him,_ she realized. His eyes were the rich blue of the sky on a bright summer day, darkened by a mixture of tenderness and frustration. Even as she felt cold dread sweep over her, Ellana's heart ached to realize he might be alerting her to his plans, but he still wasn't including her as his _partner_ in leadership.

"You're already committed to this," she guessed, her voice raw. "No matter what I say."

Solas' face fell. His eyes darted off to the doorway and his shoulders sagged. "Yes." He swallowed, throat bobbing. "Ir abelas."

Flexing her left hand, Ellana felt the familiar prickling pain of the Anchor just as she always did when she considered it. The mark of Fen'Harel, bound to her since the conclave, as much a part of her as her own bones, or her child squirming inside her. Did she _really_ have a choice? How would history remember her—as the elven woman who'd closed the Breach to save Thedas, or as the one who'd unleashed the Dread Wolf's wrath and wanton destruction? Could Solas really restrain himself once he possessed his full strength, or would the Dales suddenly not be enough? Where would it end?

 _All of Thedas wasn't enough for Elvhenan,_ she thought, recalling Abelas' words yet again as she closed her eyes, trembling as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Unbidden, memories of clan life played over her eyelids: the gentle song of rain tapping on new spring leaves, the scent of lavender sweetening the breeze, and the laughter of Lavellan's children as they raced through the fields in games of hide and seek. If she were with the clan now Ellana would be at the hearth with her mother, helping grind medicinal herbs or skinning the hunters' kills and preparing the family's meals now that she was nearing the end of her pregnancy. Her days would be full of simplicity and laughter, of stories and routine—and the only games would be the ones played by the children.

"I don't want this," she said with a choking sound. "How can you do this to me?"

"Vhenan?" he asked, confusion thickening his voice.

When she opened her eyes, Ellana saw his brow had furrowed, his blue eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her, seeking her meaning. She fought to control her breathing, feeling her lungs quivering, trying to break down into sobs. Tears stung her eyes. "If I refuse to aid you I am leaving you and the People to fight the rest of Thedas without the Fade. You'll lose and our people will suffer for it."

A breathy sob wrenched its way from her throat for a moment and she jerked her head to stare off at the privy entryway as she struggled to compose herself. "And if I agree I will become a monster to the humans just as much as you will. I will betray my own conscience and help you slaughter countless humans simply because it is what _you_ decided was necessary. Because they have the wrong ears, the wrong body shape."

"The wrong _blood._ " Solas countered, cold and stiff, nostrils flaring. "The other races are trespassers to Thedas. They oppress our people most of all because they know we were great once, greater than they could comprehend. They oppose magic. They would lock those with magic away in their damned Circles—your brother, your niece, myself." He broke off, gesturing quickly toward the arcane warriors at the closed doorway, still and silent as statues. "Lyris and Mathrel." He gave a short, fierce shake of his head. "Our child as well. You know this, Ellana. Your clan knows this. It is why they chose to live away from humans, to preserve themselves."

"This goes too far," she insisted, clenching her teeth. "Too soon." She sucked in a wet, wavering breath as she shot him a teary-eyed glare. "We could have waited longer. We could have tried to leave with an Inquisition escort. But you made the choice for me, Fen'Harel," she snarled his Evanuris name. "Without me."

Both anger and pain twisted his features, quirking his mouth down and darkening his eyes. "Vhenan…" he said, more a whisper than anything else. He closed his eyes and dropped his gaze to the floor.

The sound of his pain threatened to break her composure and she sniffled, quashing the sob that tried to come out, but she couldn't stop the onrush of bitter tears. With every blink more of them cascaded down her cheeks. Her throat was raw, thick and painful with emotion as she thrust out her left hand, palm up. Solas flinched at the action, as if he'd expected her to strike him and for a brief moment Ellana wanted to laugh that the Dread Wolf could be so skittish—but she knew only _she_ could draw such a reaction. When he raised his own teary eyes to her, lips parted with consternation, she bit out, "Take it."

Slow and tentative as he stared at her with a heartsick expression, Solas clasped her left hand in his right. His palm was sweaty against her own. "I did not consider the position this would place you in," he said, deep and hoarse. He brought her knuckles up toward his lips, as if to kiss them. "I will endeavor to—"

Realizing Solas had misunderstood her intent, Ellana jerked her hand back from him, her shoulders heaving, her heart full of stabbing pain. "I'm not agreeing to help you, Fen'Harel. I wont have this on my conscience."

Horror blanched his skin as his eyes flicked down to her left hand clasped in his, but what he said was, "What are you suggesting?"

"You didn't come to me asking for my approval," Ellana said, her voice somehow managing to be both a sob and a snarl. "You came here for the Anchor." Involuntarily, she whimpered, feeling it prickle, stinging against her palm, as if it sensed the nearness of its true master and longed to return to him. "Take it. Take it back, Fen'Harel."

Solas' mouth fell open and he seemed to stop breathing in a moment that stretched out impossibly long. Then, cringing, he released her hand and stepped back from her, anger and misery clouding his blue gaze. "You truly think so little of me, vhenan?" His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "You think I would come here to maim you, punish you if you would not agree with me?"

"No," she said and the sobs she'd struggled to hold back finally broke through. Choking, she forced herself to continue, "But I _refuse_ to play this game any longer. I would rather lose my arm than lose my _self._ " If she could not help shape the world for the better, for both her people and the other races of Thedas, then she could only hope to escape and survive whatever changes were wrought. She could only try to find a small measure of peace for herself and her child.

"You would give up when the fight grows distasteful," Solas snapped, eyes crinkling with misery while his mouth and voice roughened with quiet rage. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You are stronger than this, vhenan. I know you are."

"Don't call me vhenan," she said, raising her shaking voice as anger of her own lashed her, setting her heart drumming with fresh vigor. Part of her—a small, bitter place that she tried to quash as wrong—relished the way Solas reeled at her words, stricken as thoroughly as though she'd slapped him. "If I was your heart you would have sought me out when this was still a _choice._ Instead you forced my hand."

Striding toward him, she thrust her left hand at him again. "Literally, forced my hand," she said with a brittle, dry laugh that turned into a choking sob. "Take the Anchor from me."

Solas withdrew again, hands raised as if to ward her off. "I _cannot_ do that to you."

"You were willing to leave me to die when you tore down the Veil," she reminded him, almost shouting now as she shook with the force of the emotional pain stabbing through her with each quaking breath. Her throat convulsed, trying to close, making whimpering noises against her will. "How is this worse?"

He winced, shaking his head. The next step back from her brought him up against the small dining table along the far wall from their bed. Chairs thumped with the small impact of his hips against them.

The agony in his expression cut at her, but Ellana ignored it through the red haze of her own turmoil. Advancing again, she reached him before he could circle sideways around the table, and thumped her left palm against his chest. "Take it," she cried, pleading as she grabbed his tunic in her fist and pressed her face to his chest. "I…" she sobbed, almost incoherent as her shoulders heaved with each breath, weeping in earnest. "…cannot…do it."

His arms, warm and strong, rose up around her, and though Ellana gnashed her teeth with self-hatred, she couldn't deny the instant comfort she felt at his touch. His fingers stroked through her hair as he let out a breathy whisper, his words trembling. "I'm so sorry, Ellana."

His hands moved to her cheeks, tilting her head up to him until she could just see the tears glinting in his red-rimmed eyes. She felt the tingling touch of his magic stirring and saw his lips murmur. Then, before she could think to protest or pull away, Solas pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She had a moment to gasp as the pins and needles sensation swept over her and then, immediately in its wake, a heavy lassitude settled over her. Dizziness made the room spin and her hands clutching Solas' tunic lost their strength. Her knees trembled and then gave out, but Solas' arms kept her upright as she collapsed. Breath escaping in a wheeze, she felt fear set her heart pounding as Solas swept her up with one arm under her knees, carrying her. Her last thought was to wonder if she'd wake up with her arm missing.

Then blackness closed over her.

* * *

Solas laid Ellana's limp, unconscious form over the bed, arranging her tenderly even as he tabled the anguish inside himself. He left her on her side, knowing the weight of the baby would be uncomfortable for her when she stayed on her back very long. The Anchor was a warm flare to his peripheral senses, a hissing, crackling song at the edge of his mind. He lingered for a few seconds with her left hand in his grip, feeling over the palm as her words echoed through him, as sharp and painful as icepicks drilling into his ears.

The memory of her pain—and when she'd told him not to call her vhenan—made him nauseous. Had he lost her? Driven her away? The taunting, bitter voice in his head whispered that he'd always known he deserved this. Whether she was right or not about the necessity of him taking Halamshiral, some part of Solas had always known she'd turn on him. Fen'Harel always lost those closest to him, one way or another. Even before his parents had been killed in his own slave rebellion, Solas had long since put them aside, giving them up to protect them from the Evanuris and the upper class. Now it seemed Ellana would want him to do the same, and losing her meant never knowing his child.

He let out a shuddering breath as he laid her left hand on the bed and instead brushed his fingers over her cheek to wipe away the lingering wetness of her tears. _I'm not giving up yet, vhenan,_ he thought at her as his jaw squared and the pain of their confrontation faded. He pushed it all into a box deep inside, tucked away where it couldn't interfere with what must come next.

Standing upright, he turned to face Lyris and Mathrel, finding their expressions stoic though their eyes held the same heavy sadness he suspected his own did. "Watch over her," he said, his voice deeper and rougher than he'd have liked. He swallowed, striving to achieve a cool aloofness befitting a proper leader. "I will send Dalish women to attend her."

Lyris let out a small huff. "She's going to hate being locked up. The last time you tried this…"

"I know," Solas said, passing a hand over his face, as if he could wipe away the pain still trying to etch itself there. _She found a way out,_ he thought, finishing Lyris' comment for her silently.

"Will you really keep her caged?" Lyris asked quietly.

 _Caged. Imprisoned. Held against her will._ Solas scowled, dropping his gaze to the floor as he considered the implications, moral and political and personal, of keeping Ellana against her will and felt queasy again. He needed the Anchor, and as long as it was part of her with no way to remove it save destroying her arm and the mark in the process, that meant he needed _her._ In time, and with the fragments he might collect in taking her arm, he could construct another Anchor with the foci he'd found from Tevinter…maybe. But politically and morally he found the thought of imprisoning her to keep his access to the Anchor repulsive. She deserved to be happy—even if it was not at his side. Had he not always fought for freedom?

Yet the personal cost of letting her leave—his _child_ —slammed into him like a fist. How could he bear letting another man step in to raise _his_ child? The very idea of it made his hands curl into fists and his muscles seize up, shaking with outrage. How could he trust anyone else to protect her or the child properly? Stomach clenching, he pushed the thoughts aside, unable to let them continue.

Pinning Lyris with a fierce look, he shook his head in the negative even as he said, "I cannot consider this, currently. My hope is she will reconsider her stance given time."

Lyris nodded her understanding.

Satisfied, Solas strode out the door, his normally light tread heavy with the weight of his internal anguish. He found Abelas and the three Dalish elves he'd left as bodyguards outside the room. The sentinel shot him a cold look that was almost an outright glare while the three Dalish watched him with something akin to wariness. Solas wondered with a touch of cold fear how much they'd overheard through the closed door.

"Abelas," he called the sentinel. "Accompany me."

The sentinel raised one brow. "Where?" he asked, knowing he would lead the way. Solas didn't trust the elf to walk at his back and they both knew it.

"The servant quarters," Solas replied without elaborating. He'd seek out several Dalish women to join Ellana and hopefully calm her while he was away. Afterward he would find Lanya and his other spies within the winter palace to carry a message to Briala, alerting her that mien'harel had come for her people. She could betray him at the news, alerting Celene and calling for his arrest, but Zevanni would arrive within the hour. In that short space of time Briala and Celene would have no chance to counter the coming revolution. Solas was confident Briala would act in favor of the People rather than her lover—especially because his messenger would assure her that he would spare Celene in the assault. If she _did_ betray him, Solas would finally learn exactly _how_ powerful he was with the Veil strangling his magic.

One thing he did know with certainty, however, was that this would be a very long night.

* * *

Ellana woke with her bladder about to burst. Hissing between clenched teeth, she hauled herself from the bed and staggered for the privy. Lyris' tread followed her; the warrior's steps loud even on the carpeting. Ellana ignored it, lurching to the chamber pot and hurriedly shedding her breeches, uncaring that the warriors would hear her piddle.

"Are you all right?" Lyris asked from the doorway. Her voice was soft with compassion. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," Ellana bit out, her back to the warrior as she at last relieved her overfull bladder. Despite the heaviness in her limbs and the haze of fog still in her mind from whatever spell Solas had used on her, Ellana managed not to stumble or make a mess. She donned her breeches again without once looking to Lyris, feeling the dull heat of fury simmering inside her, burning as badly as the heartburn scalding the back of her throat.

When she'd finished, she stood in the privy, feeling the cold tiles underfoot as she tried to think, to focus on what she should _do_ or _say._ Looking at her left hand, she snorted derisively. "I'm glad he left my arm for now. It'd be hard to do this if he'd taken it."

"Fen—" Lyris cut herself short with a sigh before starting again. "Solas would never harm you. He loves you, more than I ever thought I'd see from him, considering he's such a loner."

She closed her eyes, though she knew the painful lump in her throat wouldn't go away so easily. Latching onto the fire of her anger instead, she whipped around to glower at Lyris. "I have nothing to say to you," she spat. "You're just one of his lackeys. Even if you disagreed with him you'd never challenge him."

"When he seeks advice, I give it," Lyris replied coolly. "But I am not a leader."

"I am," Ellana snarled and then, suddenly, let out a choking sob. "I _was."_

Lyris nodded. "He knows this. He is trying to honor it. But you must understand he has never shared power before, only served or led alone. He is flawed, as all sentient beings are. " Silence reined for a moment as Ellana collapsed back to sit on the edge of the tub, her hands covering her face as she struggled to breathe without breaking into sobs. Then Lyris said, "But his actions are logical now. Halamshiral is—"

"Logical?" she shouted, shaking with fury as her head lifted out of her hands. _"Logical?"_

Lyris jabbed out her chin, shoulders stiffening. "Yes. Fen'Harel is acting for the People."

"He is putting a target on us," Ellana cried. "He will make the People into boogeymen who will be tortured and killed mercilessly outside the Dales. He is stripping us of allies, of any sympathy our suffering has amassed since we lost the Dales."

"What is done is done," Lyris growled with a frown. "You say you want to help the People, but you spend most of your time capitulating to the humans and worrying about the other races. Fen'Harel does not need a human-apologist. He needs an advisor capable of making the ruthless decisions alongside him, who will help him bear the weight of—"

"Get out," Ellana yelled.

Lyris stiffened, inhaling sharply and hesitating as Ellana glared daggers at the other woman, hands clenched into fists against her thighs. Then, apparently making a decision, Lyris dipped her chin obediently and whipped around on one heel, leaving the privy doorway.

Alone, Ellana sagged, shoulders heaving and heart hammering as more tears pooled in her eyes. Then, with shaking hands and lips curling with irritation aimed at herself, she began wiping the tears away. Sucking in several deep, ragged breaths, she found herself staring at the small wooden crate of bath oils and other things they'd brought with them from the Emerald Graves to avoid using the Orlesian-supplied items for fear of poisoning. They'd packed a variety of herbs in that crate, including some ingredients used in powders for invisibility and sleep concoctions—common items rogues used in combat. Solas had wanted her to have non-magical options available in an emergency.

She felt the anguish of her argument with Solas lifting from her as she imagined escaping this room, thwarting Solas in some way…

Mind spinning, she thought of Mythal. Could she find Morrigan and seek her help, perhaps somehow stop Solas that way? But then she scowled, recalling Abelas' now bare face and his cagey remarks about the goddess' _plans._ Mythal was playing the Game even more than Solas. Ellana couldn't trust her to do anything to stop Solas.

Who _could_ she trust? And was there _anything_ she could do to stop Solas?

Multiple answers leapt into her mind immediately: her family and Dorian. She dismissed her family; though doing so made something in her chest hurt with a sharp stab of loss. The clan could never keep her presence a secret from Solas and she'd be placing them in an awkward position of betraying her or turning against Solas. It was just the same sort of nasty decision Solas had foisted onto _her._ Ellana couldn't do that to them, not if she hoped to impede Solas' plans in some way.

But what options did she even _have_ to stop him? He'd claimed Halamshiral would be his tonight. Whatever he'd set in motion, she had no way of stopping it now. Her only power was to deny Solas the Anchor, to prevent him from accessing his full terrifying potential as an Evanuris. He could claim Halamshiral in rebellion, but he couldn't hold it without her and the Anchor. Yet removing herself and the Anchor out of his grasp endangered the People.

… _But Solas already made that choice._ He'd set his plans in motion without first making sure he had her support. He'd _assumed_ she'd agree with him and see no easier, gentler outcome. He hadn't sought her out, just acted, leaving her with no choice but to aid him and betray her own morals or deny him and bear the weight of the consequences.

She queried herself, probing her emotions the way she would with a fresh wound—tentative and cautious. Her mind shied away from thoughts of Solas, returning again and again to the laughter she'd shared while playing cards and telling stories with Dorian, Rainier, and Varric. And in the midst of her argument with Solas she'd flashed back to memories of the clan, longing for escape from the Game, for a return to something simple and serene and innocent.

When the baby kicked she rubbed her belly and, at the reminder of this extra complication, felt the well of despair tear wide open within her as the realization came that if she fled now she'd most likely be alone when she went into labor. She'd be depriving Solas of seeing their child's birth. The many mornings they'd spent together, lingering in bed as they waited to feel their child's kicks flashed through her memory again and her lungs convulsed, making her gasp and start to sob in earnest. How could she do that to Solas, to herself? To their child?

She covered her face with both hands and gave into the hysterical sobs, rocking back and forth on the edge of the tub. As the racking sobs gradually quieted, leaving her breathless and shaky, red faced and with her throat aching, she heard the first shouts echoing through the small window in the privy, which had been left slightly ajar with the warm early spring day.

Climbing over the tub, Ellana pushed the window wider and stared out at the row of hedges lining the side of the palace far below, separating it from the courtyard. Her heart pummeled her breastbone as she heard more shouts of alarm, and then, darting into her view past the hedges, she saw a masked Orlesian nobleman stagger clumsily onto the grass. He yelped and shouted incoherently, mad with fear. A moment later two elves in servant garb stalked after him. As the nobleman rolled over, motioning pleadingly, Ellana saw the red-black bloodstains on his side.

"No," he begged. "Please!"

"What's that?" one of the elves, a man, taunted. "No more filthy knife-ear comments?"

The woman with him advanced on the nobleman, a bloody knife clutched in her right hand. "This is for every time you touched me, fucking shem," she spat.

"You'll never touch anyone ever again," the man snarled as the woman lunged forward and cut into him.

The nobleman's screams became wet gurgles that churned Ellana's stomach. She closed her eyes and turned away, trying to drown out the sounds, but she couldn't block out the bitterly triumphant cry of victory from the servants below: "Mien'harel! Fen'Harel enansal!"

And then, as Ellana struggled to swallow the bile still in her throat, she heard a very different sound—the flutter of feathers. She looked up, back at the window, just in time to see a black raven land on the windowsill with a flustered ruffle of its shiny black feathers. Its eyes flashed as it pivoted its head, staring at her a beat before it sidled through the open window, talons clicking against the windowsill.

Through the tears still blurring her vision, Ellana gawped as she saw the raven's eyes: bright and distinctive gold.

_Morrigan._

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"What will become of the Anchor?" Ellana asked, flexing her left hand to ease the ongoing tingling of it.

"I will carry it," Morrigan said, smirking. "I can see that displeases you, but it should not." Spreading her hands to indicate the palace around them, she said, "The palace is in turmoil. Soon the city will rise in rebellion as well. These are the hallmarks of Fen'Harel when he is uncaged and unrestrained. There is nothing to hold him back in this world—save you and the Anchor."

* * *

 


	36. Mien'Harel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan helps Ellana escape as Solas takes the winter palace in rebellion.

Only a half hour after leaving Ellana sleeping, Solas sensed the foci as a sizzling shot of energy in the back of his mind. He'd already sent two Dalish women to help Ellana and sent off a messenger—Lanya—to Briala, and had spent the time since then preparing the others from their party for the coming rebellion. Yet, as soon as he felt the foci, Solas took Abelas with him in search of it.

The Orlesians allowed him to pass through the sumptuous halls of the palace with little more than suspicious glares as he left the servant quarters, but when he crossed into another wing a pair of masked guards blocked his passage. Through the eyeholes in their masks Solas could just make out the glitter of the moist sheen of their eyes as they tried to turn him away, their voices nasally and thick with their accents.

"Off with you," the one to the left of the door snarled, lips invisible behind the silvered mask. "This part of the palace is off limits currently."

His partner added, "Filthy flea-bitten elf savage."

Feeling the foci off in the distance beyond these men as a burning beacon in his peripheral senses, Solas scowled. "I have no time for this," he growled, drawing down a quick draught of mana from his core as he prepared to cast. "Step aside and allow me to pass or I will end you."

The guard who'd called him a savage immediately reached for his sword, drawing it with a metallic ringing. Solas' eyes flared white-purple as he petrified the man. The other guard yelped, scrambling for his weapon even as he seemed to flinch away, intimidated by the impossible swiftness of Solas' attack. With just a flick of his eyes, Solas petrified him too as soon as he'd drawn his sword.

He heard a gasp and a shriek behind him as a noblewoman reacted to the attack, trotting away on her ridiculously pointed heels, her dress fluttering around her legs. Abelas snorted beside him. "I will never understand these shemlen."

In this, at least, Solas could agree with the sentinel, though he refused to smile or admit it aloud. "Lead the way," he instructed the sentinel, knowing the other man could feel the foci as well. Every mage in the palace would have felt its presence—but of course only a handful recognized what it was.

Abelas pushed open the porcelain white double doors ahead of them without touching them, using a waft of magic like Veilstrike. Screaming echoed through the hallway in response to the clattering of the doors as they smacked against the walls behind them. A servant lingering in a nearby doorframe peeked out, her eyes round and owlish as she watched them. As they drew near the serving girl dipped her head and murmured, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Solas slowed slightly to speak to her. "Mien'harel is here, da'len. Lay down your duties for the humans and help us take Halamshiral."

She gawped at him. "What? What should I do?"

"Go to the servants quarters," Solas instructed. "Join with the rest of the People."

With a nod she scampered away in the direction he indicated, pausing near the entrance to gasp at the sight of the petrified Orlesians. Solas continued after Abelas, both of them following the prickling pressure at the edges of their minds, like hounds on a scent. As they neared the next corner in the corridor, passing darkened rooms that stood empty except for storage crates or dusty bookshelves, Solas heard a distant shout along with the nearer noise of metallic clanking from heavy Orlesian armor. The foci was on the move, drawing closer—as was the approaching guard.

Solas reached out and grasped Abelas' bicep. "Hold," he ordered, his voice quiet but firm. The sentinel obeyed, cold amber eyes flashing in a sidelong look that offered acknowledgement and showed no curiosity or hesitation. He had settled into a battle ready posture, stoic with obedience. It was a shame Solas couldn't trust the sentinel—he was, indeed, a valuable and experienced leader. Solas could have told Abelas nothing, but he chose to explain himself as he let go of the sentinel. "Let us see what has so spooked this guard."

They waited in tense silence as the huffing breath of the guard grew louder, as did the constant clank of his armor. Finally the guard rounded the corner ahead of them, sword already drawn, and immediately skidded to a stop with the hard slap of metal over the glinting marble floor. Chest heaving, the Orlesian motioned at them using his sword. "Step aside, fools."

"Running to warn the empress of an attack?" Solas asked, his voice cold and clipped.

The guard lunged forward, sword leading, clearly planning to skewer Abelas, who was slightly closer, through the chest. The sentinel shimmered as he Fade cloaked, not even bothering to dodge as the human warrior shoved the blade through his now incorporeal and invulnerable form. Simultaneously, with a grunt, Solas Fade stepped through the Orlesian, freezing him solid. Solas popped out of it with a flourish at the end of the corridor, where it doglegged sharply to the left.

Peering down the hall, Solas saw a dozen elves striding closer, gaits stiff and postures ready for a fight. They wore a variety of armors, from Dalish to more basic leathers. Some were barefaced while others still bore vallaslin. At their lead Solas recognized Zevanni, her proud swagger unmistakable.

Behind him Abelas let out a grunt of his own, casting an altered Veilstrike spell that shattered the frozen guard. Sparkling bits of frost scattered in the air and ice chunks clinked musically as they fell to the marble floor. Solas eyed the sentinel out of the corner of one eye as covertly as he could, trying to gage the other mage's stamina. He knew Abelas was powerful even with the Veil in place, but Abelas had always been restrained around him, making it difficult for Solas to pinpoint his strength and weaknesses.

"Fen'Harel," Zevanni called, a fierce grin spreading over her face. The power of the foci was like a shadow over her in Solas' senses, tumultuous and vibrant, a song of magic that he didn't hear so much as feel. His eyes fell to the coat she wore and the way it flopped heavily on one side. The orb would be there, tucked into a pocket. His fingers twitched at his side, clamoring to touch it even though he knew it carried the rather repulsive residual taste of Falon'Din, Sylaise, and Dirthamen's mana.

"Zevanni," he greeted her with a meaningful nod. "How good of you to join the negotiations." He grinned, hard and feral. "Perhaps now we shall accomplish something with the shemlen."

"Indeed," she crooned, smirking. Her right hand dropped to the swell of the foci in her coat. "I have a present for you—if you're ready for it."

"Keep it, for now," Solas replied.

From just behind Solas, Abelas made a small noise in his throat of derision and immediately Zevanni's gaze flew to him. "Ah, Abelas. How good it is to see that charming mug of yours again." Her brow furrowed as she no doubt registered that his vallaslin were missing and the quick glance she shot in Solas' direction held the silent question, though she didn't linger on it. "Where do we go first?" she asked instead. "I have a hundred elves at my back, eager to spill shemlen blood."

Scowling, Solas surveyed those assembled, seeing their tense expressions and the earnestness of their tight smiles. "This is not to be a bloodbath," he scolded Zevanni, raising his volume enough that the elves behind her would hear as well. "We will take the empress and the Divine alive and unharmed. And any humans who choose to flee or surrender are to be shown mercy. We cannot act like beasts hungering for blood. Do you understand?"

Zevanni heaved an irritable sigh but said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Far down the hall behind her, Solas saw still more elves emerging from an open doorway, likely the room that had housed the eluvian, one of several within the palace and Halamshiral. Apparently in one of the previous centuries the Orlesians had found the eluvians quite fetching and vogue, dredging up as many as they could and restoring them for use as actual mirrors. Their lack of understanding inadvertently worked to Solas' favor now.

He spotted Mahanon with the newly arrived elves, wearing fine Keeper robes. Mahanon had nearly the same auburn hair color and skin tone as his sister, as well as the familiar shape and placement of his other features. The reminder of Ellana sent his thoughts spinning in that direction, writhing with worry that seemed to tie his guts in a knot. Should he send Mahanon to Ellana? Would her brother comfort her or rile her up?

Then, from down the hallway Solas had already come through, came the sound of tramping footsteps as guards in full armor appeared at the far end of the corridor. They shouted wordless war cries and the leader raised his longsword over his head, encouraging the band of five guardsmen with him to charge.

Zevanni grunted. "Someone must've gotten out a warning to the empress."

As Abelas tensed, preparing to be the first to fight these new foes, Solas curled his hand into a fist and, drawing enough mana to leave him slightly dizzy, petrified all five guardsmen with a flash of his eyes. They fell over with hard thumps, arms and legs breaking with sharp cracking sounds. With another burst of mana, Solas punched his fist downward, slamming a powerful Veilstrike into the five statues, shattering them into pieces of rock little bigger than gravel.

Zevanni laughed. "This is going to be too easy if you do all the work, Fen'Harel."

Solas shot her a glare. "Do not underestimate them." He started down the corridor, calling over his shoulder. "Follow me."

* * *

With a puff of gray smoke and a gentle popping noise, the raven perched in Ellana's window transformed into Morrigan. The witch sat on the sill with her legs in the tub as Ellana gawked at her. Then, with a wave of one hand, she cast a bubble over them. The touch of magic tingled over Ellana's skin, making her shiver.

"That should give us some privacy," she said with a smirk. At Ellana's nervous glance at the door to the privy, beyond the shimmering gold of the bubble over them, Morrigan chuckled. "`Tis a sound barrier, Lady Lavellan. I know you are watched by Fen'Harel's loyalist lackeys. I cannot risk them overhearing."

"What do you want?" Ellana asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

Morrigan tilted her head, lips parting slightly with mock-surprise. "Is that any way to speak to the person who's come to rescue you from Fen'Harel's clutches? `Tis awfully rude."

Refusing to be cowed, Ellana crossed her arms over her chest and repeated, "What do you want?"

Morrigan's golden eyes narrowed slightly, losing some of her good humor. "I have come to fulfill my promise to you, Lady Lavellan." She motioned to Ellana's left hand. "I have come to remove your mark."

Heart pounding, Ellana stared at her, feeling the Anchor pulsate under the skin of her palm. She'd pleaded with Solas to take the Anchor from her, even if doing so meant losing her arm. Was Morrigan—or Mythal, really—making the same offer or a new, better one? And regardless of the details, could Ellana trust the ancient formless goddess with a power like the Anchor? Licking her lips to try and wet them, though she had precious little moisture to spare, Ellana asked, "What do you mean exactly?"

"I mean that Mythal can take the Anchor from you without harming you in any way." The witch wore a long-sleeved dress with a stiff crinoline skeleton that rustled like dry leaves whenever she moved, drawing Ellana's gaze and making her tense. The bubble glimmered over them, still intact. "That is what you wanted, was it not?"

Ellana clenched her jaw, sucking in a long breath. "It was, yes." She edged backward from the tub, leaning against the counter beside the crate with supplies. Thoughts of the knockout and invisibility powder flitted through her mind like panicked birds taking wing.

The expression on Morrigan's face was darker now, her lips twisting downward. "But you no longer trust me, do you?" She clucked her tongue and idly tugged at the cuffs on her sleeves. "`Tis such a shame you are so fickle, Lady Lavellan. Mythal _can_ help you."

"How, exactly?" Ellana asked, her voice sharp. "How can Mythal take the Anchor and spare my arm while Solas cannot?"

"Have you ever heard Fen'Harel refer to the Evanuris as _the first_ of his people?" Morrigan asked without looking at her. "No doubt you thought little of it at the time, but doesn't such a description seem odd for one who does not call them creator gods?"

The distant memory of the temple of Mythal passed through Ellana's mind, along with a chill of both awe and dread. Recalling the glittering gold and green of the pristine murals Ellana had seen on the walls around the petitioners' ritual chambers, she could almost hear again Solas' voice as he spoke of Falon'Din being bloodied in his own temple. _Why not killed?_

Shaking her head, she frowned. "While interesting, Morrigan, I hardly see how that is relevant."

Morrigan smiled, closed-lipped and somber. "I assure you, `tis entirely relevant. Did you ever wonder _why_ the People are so connected to the Fade? _Why_ they alone are immortal among the races of Thedas?" She laughed when Ellana's brow furrowed with further confusion. "The first of the People were powerful spirits—will manifesting as flesh. Elgar'nan and Mythal were truly the first and most powerful, but Falon'Din was also born of the Fade rather than flesh, as was June. They manifested later, of course, and under differing circumstances, but they still possessed incredible power."

Ellana blinked, baffled as she tried to process what Morrigan had told her. "You're saying…all of the ancient Elvhen were spirits manifesting as flesh?"

Morrigan cocked her head to one side. "The very first, yes, but most of the Elvhen who came later were born just as you were, including many of the Evanuris. Mythal and Elgar'nan were the most powerful, the very first elves to draw breath in this world." Her smile widened. "As such, there are things even Fen'Harel does not know and cannot do. Despite his affinity for spirits and the Fade, he has always been a being of flesh."

"How does this mean Mythal can help me?" Ellana pressed, a coil of tight anxiety pressing against her lungs, making each breath seem shallower than the one before.

"If you come with me, Lady Lavellan, I will take you into the city. There is an eluvian in a noble's seasonal retreat located there. I have used it to come and go from Halamshiral quietly, avoiding Fen'Harel's notice." Her golden eyes drilled into Ellana as she went on. "With Mythal's knowledge and power, I can redirect the eluvian to take us into the Fade. Once there Mythal will conduct a ritual that will draw your spirit from your body. Then removing the Anchor will be like unraveling a wayward string from a tapestry."

Ellana's heart had climbed into her throat, pounding away. "Draw my spirit from my body?" she repeated, voice thin with fear.

"It sounds frightening, but `tis not. Your spirit is drawn from your body each night while you sleep to dream in the Fade, after all. No harm will come to you." Morrigan grimaced, lip curling as if in pain for a moment. Heaving a sigh, she gestured at the bubble around them. "This spell taxes me, Lady Lavellan. I must ask that you make your decision quickly. Will you remain Fen'Harel's puppet and plaything, or will you cast off his mark and gain independence?"

"What will become of the Anchor?" Ellana asked, flexing her left hand to ease the ongoing tingling of it.

"I will carry it," Morrigan said, smirking. "I can see that displeases you, but it should not." Spreading her hands to indicate the palace around them, she said, "The palace is in turmoil. Soon the city will rise in rebellion as well. These are the hallmarks of Fen'Harel when he is uncaged and unrestrained. There is nothing to hold him back in this world—save you and the Anchor."

Shifting on the windowsill, making her dress rustle, Morrigan went on, "Do you know the longest streak of peace Elvhenan saw after Falon'Din's civil war ended? After Fen'Harel had taken his place as one of the Evanuris? It was many centuries long and only occurred because Fen'Harel was hampered as a ruler, bound by the responsibility of caring for his own lands and his own people. And he was beholden to other leaders, nobility, and his fellow Evanuris. It was only when they—" She broke off, grimacing again. " _We_ reinstated Falon'Din and allowed Fen'Harel to slip away that chaos returned."

She raised both brows. "Do you understand, Lady Lavellan? Fen'Harel must be kept in check for there to be peace. As long as he maintains control over so much he will never be content." She shook her head, a look of sorrow darkening her features. "You know there is wisdom in my words. In _Mythal's_ words."

Nodding, Ellana stared at the edge of the tub, at the embroidery in Morrigan's flamboyant dress. She didn't doubt the value in checks and balances on power, but trusting Mythal with it felt…dangerous. Abelas' bare face flashed through her mind again. What plans would the sentinel disagree with so vehemently that he would leave her service? She wished she knew Abelas better to gain insight on his decision and what it suggested about Mythal.

Through the window Ellana heard muffled screams and shouts. Orange light flickered with a dull roar, glinting on the window pane. Morrigan turned her head and gazed out with a scowl. "It seems the rebellion has begun in earnest. We are running out of time."

Body slicked with a sudden hot sweat, Ellana turned and began digging through the supply crate. "I'm not ready to relinquish the Anchor yet," she told Morrigan. "But I do see the wisdom in what you say." Clutching several small bundles of knockout and invisibility powder, Ellana faced Morrigan's unhappy frown once more. "I will stand with you to thwart Solas," she said, heat in the words as a touch of her fury returned, scalding her blood. "Can you get me out of here?"

Morrigan's golden eyes roved over her, assessing. "I can, but you would do well to arm yourself. There will be confusion and violence. I have summoned several sentinels to help us, but they are only a handful against the entire palace and a host of Fen'Harel's hostile elves. They will invariably recognize you," she said, ominous.

Ellana pointed toward the bedroom beyond the privy and the golden shimmer of the sound bubble they were within. "I have a bow in the other room."

"And invisibility powder in one hand," Morrigan observed with a grin. She raised both hands, her palms glowing gold. "I will drop the barrier now. Be swift and silent."

Holding her breath, Ellana threw the small bag of powder onto the floor, sending up a dark, sparkling cloud of particulate. The sound bubble disappeared with a last flicker and suddenly Ellana's ears filled with the much louder roar of the fire in the courtyard and shrieking voices. Footsteps pounded in the hallway outside and she heard the clang of metal on metal. A voice cried out from right outside her room: "Fen'Harel enansal!"

Biting back the curses rising to her tongue, Ellana moved into the bedroom as silently as she could. One glance at the door found both Matheral and Lyris still present, tight as bowstrings as they faced the door to the room, ready to attack anyone that burst through it. Their distraction made Ellana's task easier as she moved to the dresser where her coat, her bow, and her quiver waited. She grabbed them up, aware that they would remain visible unless she used another dose of powder, and used her body to try and shield the items as she crept back to the privy.

"Guards sent by the empress?" Matheral asked his wife. "To capture Ellana?"

Lyris nodded in return, the hilt of her spectral blade clutched so tightly in her right hand that the knuckles had flushed white. "The Marquise could have betrayed us."

Ellana returned to the privy, their words echoing in her ears as she hurriedly shrugged on her coat, hoping its extra bulk would help hide her swollen belly. _"I'm ready,"_ she mouthed at Morrigan, shouldering her arrow quiver and her bow.

The witch nodded and motioned her closer. Ellana stepped into the other woman's embrace and braced herself, closing her eyes, anticipating that she was about to endure what might be unpleasantly strong magic. A rush of cold enveloped her, along with a flash of light against her eyelids, and the overwhelming, nauseating sense of vertigo as the world spun. Then, for a heartbeat, weightlessness clenched her stomach.

With a hissing pop the light on her eyelids became the orange flicker of flames and she felt the solid stone of the courtyard beneath her feet. Hedges formed a wall to her right and the palace rose to her left. Ellana saw her open window several stories up, the trail of gold wispy smoke marking the path of the teleportation spell Morrigan had used. Tongues of flame licked up from a first floor window nearby, close enough that Ellana could feel the heat of it.

"What a mess." Morrigan grunted and waved a hand at it, casting ice magic. The air chilled until Ellana could see her breath and the fire shrank back into mere sparks before going out. "There. Much better."

Ahead of them, beside the row of hedges, Ellana saw the bloody body of the noble she'd seen elven servants kill a few minutes ago. She grimaced before she heard more shouts and pounding feet over the hard courtyard. Voices called out in broken elven. "Fen'Harel enansal! Mien'harel!"

Morrigan gritted her teeth and reached for Ellana's hand, gripping it hard in her sweaty palm. "We must be swift, Lady Lavellan. Follow me."

* * *

With a deep-throated roar, Zevanni hurled an enormous ball of flames at the last half dozen golden-armored bodyguards of the Divine. The men had burst out of the chamber that served as Divine Victoria's personal quarters, swords and shields at the ready, shouting to Andraste and the Maker, beseeching them for a holy victory, triumph over their savage elven opponents. The fire engulfed two of them, turning their prayer-like shouts to their god and his prophet into ear-piercing screams of agony.

From his spot slightly further back, Solas winced at the sound and drew mana for a petrification spell. With just a flick of his eyes he turned both men into stone, dousing the flames prematurely but ending their pitiful screams.

The last remaining guard shield bashed a Dalish mage, making her cry out with pain and crumple to the ground. There were three more elves within swinging distance and they all attacked at once, casting lightning, fire, and ice simultaneously as the warrior slashed at them. Mages further back cast barriers over those in the front, blocking his blade with a flare of bluish magic. The guard staggered back, howling with pain as magic assaulted him from every side. Another fire spell from Zevanni consumed him and he fell, already dead.

The mages surged forward through the double doors, shouting in triumph, led by Zevanni. Solas pressed forward with them, just behind, the pressure of tension and anxiety rising like bile in his throat. The Divine's chambers were luxurious and enormous, the walls porcelain and pristine with glittering gilded trim. On the floor was a massive Chantry sunburst emblazoned in red. The room opened into an office space with white couches along the walls and an enormous desk made of a fragrant red-stained wood.

Cassandra stood regal and proud behind that desk, resplendent in her golden armor, complete with the bizarre oval shaped headgear. She jutted out her chin, eyes flashing with defiance as she took in the swarm of elves filtering into the office and did not draw her shield or sword. As Solas stepped forward to take a spot beside Zevanni, Cassandra's brown eyes flew to him and narrowed with disdain—but also a hint of pain.

"Is this how it is to end then, my old friend?" she asked, the words clipped and hard with a note of bitterness. "Have you come to kill me, Solas?"

"Surrender peacefully and there will be no need for further bloodshed," Solas told her, mildly surprised at how gentle his voice sounded. The memory of the way she'd called him _Solas_ instead of Fen'Harel made something in his chest sting a little.

"Am I to be a prisoner, then?" Cassandra asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"For a time," Solas hedged with a dip of his chin. He tucked his hands behind his back, feeling the mages around him tense. "I have no quarrel with you," he elaborated. "Save that your Chantry has censured the People and denied us our rightful claim to the Dales."

"I have always been open to negotiations," Cassandra said, lips curling in a snarl. "I am the one who called for these peace talks to begin with."

Solas nodded again. "I understand that, Seeker." Just as she had fallen back to using his informal name, Solas followed suit using her former title. "And I had every intention of resolving this matter peacefully. Unfortunately, Empress Celene did not share our aspirations and was intent on having Ellana and myself killed. I have taken action to prevent this."

"You go too far," Cassandra snarled with a sideways slash of her hand. Her eyes flicked around the other elves. "How many lives will you take doing this? What will you accomplish?" A pleading note entered her voice as she continued. "Do you know how many have urged me simply to declare an Exalted March on the Emerald Graves? I have tried every excuse I can think of to resist…but now…" She shook her head, gaze dropping to the desk.

"Kill her," Zevanni growled at his side, fire in her eyes. "It will throw the humans into chaos and make them vulnerable. And if you leave her alive she'll just decree an Exalted March." Zevanni motioned at the Divine with one hand, a look of derision curling her lips and narrowing her eyes. "She basically said as much."

Part of Solas could see Zevanni's point. Cassandra had been a good and fair Divine, but she was _still_ just another Andrastian, preaching Chantry rhetoric and fear of the Fade and magic. And despite the fact that she'd been a friend in the past of both he and Ellana, she'd ordered his arrest at the Exalted Council and she hadn't been able to avoid caving under political pressure to call the council in the first place. Now she'd surely support a new Exalted March, which made her a threat. Throwing the Chantry into disarray by killing Divine Victoria was also a sound strategy for weakening human resistance as they expanded throughout the Dales in the same way executing the empress was. Losing both rulers would leave the Chantry _and_ Orlais disorganized and weak.

But he knew Ellana would disapprove and hate him for it. Cassandra was, or had been, her friend. And he'd promised Briala he'd spare Celene. _The things I do for ma vhenan…_

Cassandra glared at him, her chin held high and shoulders squared. "Kill me if you wish, but there will simply be a new Divine once I am gone and then she will declare the Exalted March." She inhaled deeply, eyes closing for a moment and when she opened them again they were glassy, turning inward. "I will go to the Maker's side."

"Not today, Seeker," he told her firmly. "Not by my hand or my magic. Your death is unnecessary." Pivoting on one foot, he searched through the elves around him, searching for both mages and warriors to form an escort for Cassandra. He suspected Abelas would be a worthy opponent for the Divine and swept his gaze over the assembled group only to frown as he saw no sign of the sentinel.

His seemed to fall to the floor while his heart lurched into his throat. When had he last seen the sentinel? Where could he have gone? The answer reached with cold fingers, strangling him in its icy grip: _Ellana._

Quashing his mounting horror, Solas quickly picked out several warriors and mages, designating a Dalish First to lead them and then return to help them continue the assault. They still needed to find Celene and apprehend the Inquisition leaders. Solas tried to ignore the cold, clammy sweat accumulating over his skin as he watched Cassandra submit to his escort, glowering at him as she went but saying nothing.

Once the Divine had gone, Zevanni grumbled under her breath, "Should have killed her."

"Do not question me," Solas snapped, snarling. His hands opened and closed into fists as he licked his lips and said, "Continue working your way through the palace. The empress must be taken alive to ensure we have Briala's loyalty. The Inquisition leaders are also to be apprehended alive."

Zevanni pouted, huffing. "Alive is hard. Not nearly as much fun."

"Do as I command," Solas growled, casting an angry look at her and then at the other warriors and mages nearby to make sure they understood how serious he was. "Until I say otherwise, they are more valuable alive."

Zevanni's lips pinched into a hard line with her displeasure, but she nodded. "Fen'Harel enansal." Then, with a sudden look of surprise, she said, "You're not leading us to take the empress?"

"There is another matter I must attend," he answered with a short nod. "Quickly. I may return before you have overcome the empress's guards." Motioning at the doorway, he ordered her and the others, "Go. I will find you."

He pretended to scan over documents left lying on the Divine's desk as the others filed out and retreated down the hall. Then, closing his eyes, he pinpointed his chambers in the guest wing within his mind, reaching out with his inner, intangible senses. Taking a sharp breath in and holding it, Solas reached for the Fade and for his mana simultaneously, channeling his spirit in an incorporeal lunge of magic. In a flash of purple-black smoke, he vanished from the Divine's chambers and when he opened his eyes and exhaled he was standing in the room he'd been sharing with Ellana.

Lyris gasped, whipping away from the closed door to stare at him while Mathrel did the same, spectral blade buzzing as it activated, flickering with white light. The sight of both warriors eased the cold pressure of fear inside him slightly, though he could hear fighting in the hall outside. Recognizing him, they relaxed. Lyris greeted him, "Fen'Harel."

Solas nodded his acknowledgement and then, seeing Ellana wasn't in bed or anywhere in the room, strode toward the privy. The door was partially closed and he hesitated before calling out, "Vhenan?"

"She's been quiet," Lyris told him softly. "Upset since she woke."

Long seconds ticked by with no answer. Fainlly, with his heart hammering inside his chest, Solas pushed the door open and immediately cursed in elven as he saw what he'd feared was true.

The privy was empty. Ellana was gone.

* * *

As much as Ellana wanted to run, it was as good as physically impossible. The best she could manage was a brisk walk with one arm cradling her abdomen to try and steady herself while the other clasped her bow. Her quiver thumped against her shoulders and her bare feet slapped against the cobblestone of the side yard, loud despite the shouting and screams that kept echoing through the palace grounds. Darkness had fallen but the moon was out and the skies were clear, affording more than enough light to see by. There were also various fires, crackling and roaring where servants had lashed out against their overseers.

As they emerged from the side yard, Ellana gawked and cringed from the blazing light and heat of the orange-yellow fire that'd consumed the tavern where Iron Bull, Sera, and Cole had lingered during the Exalted Council. Burning embers wafted into the sky, the smell of smoke made Ellana's throat sore and set her eyes stinging. The small building across the gap had begun to catch fire as well, grayish tendrils of smoke puffing from the roof.

"Come along," Morrigan called to her, tugging on Ellana's bicep.

They stepped into the archway of the gate leading to the courtyard proper. The musical song of the water from the fountain was dim but impossibly beautiful after the roaring fire. A richly dressed human lay slumped over, face down in the fountain. The water looked dark.

Ellana's skin prickled with fear as shadows peeled away from the wall to their right. Five lithe figures emerged from around the potted plants, their postures aggressive. "And just who would you be?" one of them asked. The moon was at their backs, casting their faces in darkness, but its light illuminated the sharp points of their pronounced ears.

"Hinder me and die," Morrigan snarled at them, releasing Ellana and raising both hands as she prepared to defend herself.

"A mage," one of the other elves, a woman, observed. The note of caution in her voice was unmistakable and Ellana saw the other elves react to it, stiffening.

"Let us through," Ellana added, firm and authoritative—her Inquisitor voice. "Enough blood has been spilt this night."

"They're nobles," the man who'd spoken first grumbled, apparently itching for violence.

"Wait," another woman said, taking a sudden step forward and leaning closer. Ellana could just make out the sheen of her eyes as they narrowed. "Lady Lavellan?"

"Lavellan?" a different man chimed in. "Briala wants her."

"Well she can't have me," Ellana shot back, raising her bow with one hand while the other reached for an arrow. She nocked it in less than a heartbeat and tensed, ready to draw even as she sighted along the arrowhead at the elf who'd mentioned Briala. "Let us pass."

"Let us pass," Morrigan added with a growl. "I won't ask nicely again."

"Kill the human," the first man spat. "Take Lavellan alive."

In the instant the five elves lunged toward her, Morrigan waved her hand, casting a wall of flames that blocked their path. Ellana, having already aimed, let her arrow fly and heard the dull thump and sharp scream of pain that told her she'd found her mark. Grabbing another arrow and nocking it, she searched the flames for the telltale sign of their enemies, shadows moving against the light.

One of the elves darted out of the flames, rolling forward to close the distance, daggers flashing as he aimed for Morrigan. The witch tossed up a barrier over both herself and Ellana, then made a fist and jerked her hand backward. Ellana felt the blast of cold air as the rogue froze, skin and clothes smoking with the rapid transition from hot to cold. The spell slowed him but hadn't killed him. Ellana let her arrow fly, deliberately aiming for this man's thigh to incapacitate but not kill him outright if she could help it.

Another elf lunged for Morrigan through the flames, throwing a dagger aimed at her chest with one hand while the other tossed out caltrops. The dagger deflected from the barrier, but the caltrops found their mark as Morrigan cursed and stumbled backward into the wall behind them. The ivy growing over it shuddered and rustled.

With a shout, Ellana let loose another arrow, catching the woman in the meat of her bicep. She yelped with pain, gripping the arrow as blood spurted. She grit her teeth. "Bitch!"

Scrambling to grab another arrow, Ellana didn't have time to react as another elven man made it through the diminishing wall of flames and slapped the bow from her hands. His fist impacted the side of her head, making her cry out as white stars exploded through her vision. Something warm and wet trickled over her brow and into her right eye.

The world spun and she staggered, arms flailing as she fought to stay upright. Her mind whirled, the pregnancy disrupting her equilibrium and destroying dexterity. She might've flipped away if she had her pre-pregnancy nimbleness, but now her abdominal muscles were as good as useless. As rough hands grabbed her arm and then her hair, wrenching her head back, Ellana couldn't stop thinking about her child, worrying their attackers would harm the baby more than herself.

Her hands fumbled at her waist, searching for the knockout bomb even as the man holding her twisting her other arm and kicked with a grunt at her knee, forcing her down. The impact made her cry out, before she blurted almost incoherently, "Please—I'm with child! Don't—"

The elf shrieked, his grip on her convulsing as his body jerked. A blade stabbed through his chest with a wet crunch of bone cracking. Hot blood splattered over her face and hair. Ellana recoiled as the warrior behind the elf grunted and withdrew his blade, flicking it away and pushing the now dying elf off to one side, the body thumping with a wet splatter on the cobblestone.

Scrambling to her feet, blinking the blood from her eyes and gritting her teeth, Ellana found her dagger and clutched it as she pivoted to face the newcomer. He was human, thick and muscular, a shield on one arm and his bloodied sword in the other. The moon was behind him as it had been with the elves, obscuring his features. Out of her peripheral vision Ellana saw more figures nearby engaging the last elves, driving them off. One of the newcomers was a mage, hurling crackling lightning at the fleeing elves.

"Take it easy now," the warrior in front of her said, his deep, gruff voice gradually impacting her and tickling her memory with recognition.

She wiped at the thick gore covering her face, struggling to see him to confirm what her ears told her. "Thom?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Rainier answered with a short, dry chuckle. "It's just me, my lady." Using his blade, he tapped the elven man's body. "Good thing we came along when we did."

Morrigan grunted, approaching with a rustle of her dress. Blood spattered the front of her, staining the rich fabric. Her hair was mussed, her breath a little fast. "Thank you for your assistance," she said to Rainier. Then, to the other shapes stepping closer, finally registering in Ellana's shocked senses, she added, "And my thanks to you all as well."

"Lady Morrigan," Dorian's familiar singsong voice rang out. He stood beside the gargantuan, distinct form of the Iron Bull, who had his enormous two-handed great axe balanced on one shoulder. "How nice to stumble upon you like this!" He clucked his tongue as his head swiveled slightly to look directly at Ellana. "And you, too, darling! Are you all right? That's an awful look on you, all that blood."

Dazed, Ellana wiped at her face and scowled when her fingers came back coated in crimson. Their words seemed to echo inside her head, as if her skull had gone hollow. Her knees and back ached, feeling shaky. She noticed the blood had stained her coat and made a little noise of distress in her throat.

"Uh oh," a smaller shape—Varric, she realized—said. "I think Lavender's lost it."

"Andraste's tits," Sera put in from behind Dorian and Iron Bull. "Is she gonna pop? Burp up her bits? Is mini droopy ears about to drop?"

"We don't have time for this," Morrigan scolded with a derisive scoff at Sera.

"And why is that, exactly?" Dorian asked. "Where were you taking her?"

Ellana sucked in a breath, blinking again and shaking her head, as if that would clear it. Of course it didn't work, but the motion helped her feel the slight chill of the night air again as her mind resurfaced into the present rather than retreating somewhere inside. She cleared her throat, struggling to find her voice. "We're trying to stop Solas."

"By the Maker," Rainier said with a quick laugh. "That's the best news I've heard all night. All day, really."

"Excellent," Dorian said, clapping his hands. "I _knew_ none of this could be your idea."

"You got a plan?" Varric asked, striding forward with Bianca still on his arm, drawn and ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"Not much of one," Ellana said and then hissed through her teeth as pain tore over her abdomen. Groaning, she wound her free arm over her middle, hunching forward and breathing loud through her mouth. "Ow."

"Ah, shit," Varric muttered. "That doesn't sound good."

"Yeah," Sera said, sounding irritated. "I'll say. How we s'post to stick it to Fanny Hair what's-his-face if lady elfy-elf is too busy huffing and puffing?"

"The only way we can interfere with Fen'Harel's plans is by removing the Anchor," Morrigan explained, a note of urgency coloring her voice that Ellana heard even through the wave of pain coursing through her. As if to punctuate her concern, an earsplitting scream rang out, accompanied by the clatter of armored footsteps. "So we must _move._ "

"Well," Dorian said with a sniff. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" He tapped at Iron Bull's massive arm. "Care to play pack animal again?"

"For you?" Iron Bull asked with a smirk. "Always."

Ellana struggled to stay on her feet as Iron Bull strode forward and collected her into his arms with a soft grunt. She groaned, writhing against his chest as the pang finally let up, leaving her winded and bathed in sweat, her heart hammering in her ears. More shouts reverberated across the open courtyard but Ellana didn't try to see what caused the commotion, merely clinging to Iron Bull's chest like a lost child.

"This way," Morrigan said and started trotting for the gates across the courtyard. "My sentinels are nearby."

"Take it easy there, Boss," Iron Bull said as he jogged after Morrigan with the others falling into escort positions. "You get to ride the Bull again. I'm starting to think you're a fan." He waggled his eyebrows.

She let out a small laugh, still choked with mild pain. "I do hope Dorian isn't jealous."

"There's plenty of me to go around," Iron Bull told her with a laugh of his own.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

With a ringing noise, Ellana shot out a burst of green energy. The hills echoed with the _whump_ of the Anchor now as green magic coated Ellana like a thousand prickling needles, enveloping her. The pain in her palm receded down to an annoying sting. Green light gleamed from her hand, bright and distinctive, lighting up the night around her.

Shaking and weak at the knees, she tried to return to the road and stumbled. Dorian and Iron Bull were there at once. In only a few moments Ellana found herself dizzy and sweaty and inside Iron Bull's arms again. She leaned her head on his chest, panting as Dorian probed tentatively at her palm a moment before she tugged it out of his grasp. "It's fine," she said.

"We must move," Morrigan said and then, darkly humorous, added, "Do you still intend to keep the Anchor after that, Lady Lavellan?"


	37. Dirthara-ma, Fen'Harel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas tries to find Ellana. And Ellana, meanwhile, fights her way toward Halamshiral with the help of some old friends.

In an unthinking blur, Solas checked around the privy as Lyris spluttered behind him in shock. "She was _right_ here! I heard her crying just a few minutes ago. Where could she have gone?"

In the crate beside the counter with its washbasin, Solas found the rogue powders for invisibility and knockout missing. When he touched the windowsill and gazed out into the courtyard below, he saw no trace of her. Yet his fingertips tingled faintly, a sure sign that the room had recently felt powerful magic.

Solas brushed past Lyris and into the bedroom, searching for any other clues. Her coat was gone from its spot atop the dresser, as was her bow and arrow quiver. Cursing vehemently under his breath, Solas scrubbed at his face with one hand, still ignoring Lyris' tight and anxious presence behind him. She had gone, fleeing with either Morrigan or Abelas most likely, straight into the chaos of his own rebellion. His guts seemed to turn into water, a sickening sensation of heavy horror spreading through him at the certainty that she would die, killed mistakenly by his own forces.

_No,_ he thought, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he sucked in a steadying breath. He was present for this rebellion, leading it. He'd only returned to his village after the fact in that distant past. The rebelling slaves had chosen that village of their own accord, without any input or guidance from him, save his hatred for Elgar'nan. That was what had led to disaster. He could stop it this time. He _had_ to.

Where would Morrigan or Abelas take her? Would they hope to stop him by reaching Celene first? Would they regroup with Leliana or Cullen? Would she simply flee through an eluvian to remove the Anchor from his possession?

A heavy thump resounded against the door and the wood splintered, failing. Solas blinked, coming out of his reverie to find Mathrel lunging forward, spectral blade gleaming and buzzing as he stabbed through the remains of the door. The blade cut straight through the Orlesian guard's armor and he howled with pain as he doubled over. Blood welled out through the sundered, scorched breastplate over his chest and belly. Mathrel shouted wordlessly as he slashed again with the blade, this time lopping off the human's head.

Another guard raced over his dying comrade, intending to shield bash Mathrel. The arcane warrior spun away, Fade cloaking to avoid the slash of the man's blade. Still another guard followed, roaring a war cry.

Snarling with impatience, Solas drew mana and petrified them before Lyris could even activate her own spectral blade. Both attacking guards and a third one still trying to get through the door collapsed or froze in their places, turned to stone. With a flick of one hand, Solas shattered them with a resounding pop of his Veilstrike. Bits of stone flew out in every direction, some of it clinking against the fallen guard's armor and sizzling in Mathrel's blade.

"Who were they?" Mathrel asked, growling. "Who do you think sent them?"

"That's unimportant," Solas replied, curt and clipped. "Ellana is gone. I suspect she was taken through the window to the courtyard below." If he could calm his inner turmoil enough he might be able to _feel_ the Anchor somewhere nearby if he could just concentrate.

"Why would she do this?" Mathrel asked, grumbling. "How could she be so foolish as to—"

"It does not matter," Solas cut him off with an angry sideways slash of one hand. Breathing hard and fast, nostrils flaring, he motioned toward the privy. "You will both join me. We must find her." He broke off then, reconsidering as he stared at both Mathrel and Lyris, his personal and political needs twisting within him. Searching for Ellana with his two best, most loyal warriors left his rebellion weaker and put the empress at risk with just bloodthirsty Zevanni in charge.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Solas came to a decision and motioned at Lyris. "Go join Zevanni in taking the empress and seeking out the Inquisition leaders. They must be taken alive and I do not trust her to restrain herself."

Lyris hesitated. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," Solas said, not bothering to hide his impatience. "Now go."

She nodded, glancing quickly toward Mathrel for their usual short goodbye look, a visual exchange of longing and reassurance that made the coiled knot of snakes inside Solas wrench even tighter than before. As Lyris left through the doorway, Solas jogged toward the privy. "We must hurry, she cannot have gone far."

Pressing through the open window, Solas Fade stepped onto the courtyard below in a blur, popping out of it close enough that his fingers brushed the row of hedges to his right. A heartbeat later Mathrel joined him with the slick whine of his own Fade step. The acrid smell of smoke wafted through the side yard, making Solas grimace with distaste. A dead nobleman lay slumped beside the hedges, blood pooled around him on the pale cobblestones. Screams and shouts rent the air.

"Where would she have gone?" Mathrel asked, spinning on his heel to survey the rest of the side yard.

Solas closed his eyes a moment, turning inward and trying to find the Anchor, that familiar pleasurable buzz in the back of his mind. It was difficult to pinpoint over the interference and constant distraction of the foci, crouched like a predator at the edge of his awareness and casting a long, dark shadow over everything else. Now he found it too faint, diluted by the foci—or masked by the magic of whoever she was with—making it impossible for him to get a sense of where she was.

Shaking his head with frustration, he didn't answer Mathrel as he gave up and opened his eyes. For now there was only one path forward: out of the side yard and toward the raging inferno that had once been the tavern and apothecary. "This way."

* * *

More elven rogues assailed them just outside the courtyard gates. The sounds of their shouts and the clang of metal on metal made Ellana's head ring. She gnashed her teeth, helpless and useless as her friends faced six rogues, all dressed in winter palace livery. These would be Briala's people, causing chaos and attacking anyone who appeared to be noble and not elven. When one female rogue neared Sera she seemed to pull up short, stunned as she realized the strange assemblage included one of the People.

Bull held Ellana tightly, his muscles as firm as wood planks. Ellana knew he must be tense, anxious that he would be needed when he unavoidably had his hands full. She started fumbling for her bow with one hand and tried to speak, "I can stand and fight. You can—"

"Not a chance, Boss," Iron Bull retorted, curling his lips back in a ferocious grin. "You just relax."

"Ha!" Sera yelled, letting her arrow fly. The rogue who'd hesitated to attack her yelped as the arrow thwacked into her shoulder and sent her spinning, collapsing to the cobblestone. Varric fired a bolt from Bianca to finish the dagger-wielding rogue off.

Ahead of them Morrigan and Dorian stood side by side, one casting fire and the other lightning. The thrum of magic in the air made Ellana's skin tingle. The Anchor had begun to sting, reacting to either her emotions or the ongoing nearness and intensity of magic, Ellana wasn't sure which.

Rainier used his shield to block a volley of arrows fired from the pair of archer elves a few meters further down the path. Thrusting his blade high, he gave a war cry and tumbled forward in a combat roll. When he popped out of it at the end he bashed his shield against one archer and slashed with his sword at the other. The feather tousle in his helmet glinted in the brightness of the moonlight and his armor glittered.

As the last of the rogues collapsed under the mixture of arrows and spells from Sera, Varric, Morrigan, and Dorian, their group began jogging ahead once more. Ellana stared over Iron Bull's shoulder as they ran, something tightening in her throat painfully. Smoke coiled up from half a dozen spots on the palace. Orange light flickered from fires around the grounds. Screams and the sounds of battle rang out through what should have been a peaceful springtime night.

The cramp cut across her abdomen again and she hissed through gnashed teeth, curling against Iron Bull's chest as she rode it out. "You doing okay there, Boss?" Bull asked.

"It's fine," she said, forcing the strained words out. She gripped his pale skin more tightly, feeling her body flush with heat as the pain made her sweat. Seeking a distraction, she said, "Tell me—how did you and the others wind up together in the courtyard?"

"We were all getting smashed together in the tavern when this shit started," Bull explained.

Trotting alongside Iron Bull, Varric piped up. "It was my last night here at the palace." He let out a dry, hoarse laugh. "I sure do know how to time my exits."

"Knew this was coming," Sera said on the opposite side of Iron Bull. Ellana twisted her head, trying to see the elven girl. "People tell me things. And since the bigwigs had a sit down all I hear is rich codgers finally gonna get what's coming to `em. Right, yeah? But when I ask if they want a jenny it's all shrugs and shifty eyes."

"Solas was working with Briala," Ellana murmured, breathing out with a shudder as the cramp eased.

Sera snorted. "Right. I trust that one bout as far as I could throw Bull."

"Hey," Iron Bull said with feigned offense. "I'm not as heavy as I look. Don't sell yourself short, Sera."

Sera chortled, openmouthed and hearty. "Missed you, horny. Yeah.

* * *

They passed through the alleyway, throwing barriers up to shield themselves from the scorching heat of the burning tavern. Glowing embers whipped past the blue energy of Solas' barrier, repelled away from it, but the smoke stung his throat and eyes, making him cough and cover his mouth with one hand. They evaded fallen beams and smoldering debris to reach the cobblestone on the walkway ahead, jogging for the arched gate to the courtyard proper.

As they reached the courtyard, Solas spotted the scorch marks of a fire spell and the bodies of several elves dressed in winter palace uniforms. Blood pooled around one body in particular, sprayed out from a massive puncture in the elven man's chest. Another body lay nearby, burnt to a crisp and with a charred arrow sticking out of its thigh.

Despite the approaching shouts from across the courtyard, Solas stalked to the corpse and reached with questing fingers for the fletching. His chest lurched, a band constricting his every breath as he tried to see the original coloration and design of the feathers on the arrow's shaft. The arrow had been burned, leaving only frayed tatters of its original color and shape. It crumbled to ash as Solas' touch.

Twisting to search the other bodies, Solas saw another body nearby and this one had died with lightning and frost attacks, leaving the body only mildly charred. The arrow stuck out of the corpse woman's bicep and Solas felt his stomach go cold with dread as he immediately recognized Ellana's personalized fletching—pale feathers with streaks of blue gray. Gull feathers, from the birds inhabiting the shores of the Amaranthine Ocean and the Waking Sea, where Lavellan clan had dwelled.

A horse whinnied, the sound echoing through the courtyard and drawing Solas' gaze up from the corpse. The clattering roar of hooves on the cobblestones came next as four figures on horseback raced out of the gardens and toward the ajar, untended gates of the palace. Mathrel tensed, readying himself to cast, but Solas held a hand out in restraint, eyes narrowing as he took in the figures.

In the lead he recognized Commander Cullen despite the Templar helmet he wore, and behind him the other three figures were women. One was Josephine, wearing no visible armor, and following last was Leliana, hunched low on her horse and spurring it on hard. The woman in place behind Cullen wore bland Inquisition armor with an ugly metal helmet that looked a touch too big for her. For a moment Solas thought she could be Ellana—until he saw her thicker build and the shield strapped to her back…and her flat abdomen.

_Just a guard,_ he thought.

"Inquisition," Mathrel snarled as they watched the horses charge for the gates. "Aren't we going to stop them?"

Solas eyed the gardens and saw more Inquisition and Templars, their armor glittering in the moonlight. A few of the Inquisition humans were mages, casting lightning that crackled and fire spells that roared as they ignited. Their enemies, further away still, darted between hedges and benches, or the beams of the bathhouse. Fire licked up the walls of the bathhouse and the glass enclosing it to trap its heat inside shattered in a spectacular crackling. Blue barriers flared to life and fireballs soared. Potted plants exploded in sprays of ceramic fragments and dirt.

He had hoped to capture Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine alive and hold them for negotiations with Celene that would be under _his_ control. Cut off from their people and power bases, they'd be unable to mount a proper defense even if they still refused to grant him the Dales. Yet in the moment, faced with devoting himself to capturing the leaders of the Inquisition and finding Ellana to ensure she was safe and couldn't be used against him…

It was no contest at all.

"We have Divine Victoria," he told Mathrel and then motioned toward the ongoing fighting ahead of them as the Templars and Inquisition soldiers fought to cover their leaders' escape. "I am more interested in protecting the People." _And finding Ellana._ She wouldn't have left the palace, whatever her goals. If she sought an Eluvian the nearest one was in storage in the palace, and if she hoped to reach the empress or Cassandra they were in the palace as well. Racing after Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine was the last thing he wanted to do at this moment.

Seeing Mathrel's questioning look, Solas indicated the fight ahead with a jerk of his chin. "Let us join the fight."

They Fade stepped ahead as one, creating a wave of magic as they closed in on the Templar and Inquisition soldiers. The nearest Inquisition soldier yelped with alarm as he registered their sudden arrival from the opposite side of the courtyard and shouted an alarm.

"Dread Wolf! Dread Wolf!"

A group of two Templars pivoted to face them and Solas felt the magic-deadening power of their presence, weighing down his mana draw just as the Veil did. The warriors yelled as one and plunged their swords into the earth, performing their mana-sapping spell purge ability. The wave of it slammed into both he and Mathrel, immediately burning their skin with cold. As the effects further washed over him, Solas' muscles twitched, his head and hands heavy. Yet it was easy enough to shrug it off and cast a barrier over himself and Mathrel.

A quick glance at Mathrel revealed the warrior looked stunned, shaking his head and with his mouth agape. These were no lightly trained Templars, then. They must've served in a high level Circle or had been called to these peace talks specifically for their expertise in tackling dangerous mages. Unfortunately for them, Solas was unlike anything they'd ever seen before.

And he didn't have the time or the patience currently to slog through this battle. He had to get into the palace, to find Ellana and whoever was with her. And this skirmish between Inquisition-allies and his own rebel elves was blocking his path.

"Enough," he growled and seized a huge surge of mana from his core, powering through the dizziness the Veil inflicted on him for doing so. With both hands he gestured, indicating the whole of the gardens, and then slammed his fists downward. Magic thickened the air, setting it quivering with energy as it condensed, drawing the power from Solas' connection to the Fade and from his will. The air glimmered green, sparkling and beautiful for an instant before—

With a massive whine and then a sharp popping noise, the spell exploded like a bubble, sending out an earsplitting explosion. It was a massive Veilstrike, powerful enough that it killed the lightly armored Inquisition archer with the sickening wet crack of bone as it smashed her to the ground. The Templars cried out in pain, but their armor sheltered them from the worst of the force. Yet they did not right themselves quickly. Solas' Veilstrike had used such force that many of them had cracked ribs or broken their backs from the impact.

Solas felt his legs wobble slightly from the exertion of such a huge spell, but already his mana core had begun trickling in again and his vertigo had passed. Over the ringing in his ears he heard the groans and cries of the soldiers and the warriors as they struggled to rise only to find themselves immobile or in great pain. When one Templar did manage to heave himself upright and raise his shield with defiance, a shadowy shape shimmered at his side as an elven rogue uncloaked and stabbed him through the gap in his armor at the throat. The Templar gagged, blood spurting out in arterial sprays, splattering the pale cobblestones.

Solas recognized the elven rogue as Var and nodded with appreciation at him. Lingering a moment, he saw more of his people emerge from the baths and other spots around the gardens, moving to slit the throats of the injured or incapacitated humans. This battle was over.

Shooting Mathrel a quick glance, he said, "Let us head into the palace."

"You believe Ellana is there?" the warrior asked.

"I believe so, yes," he replied tersely, already beginning to trot out of the gardens and for the main staircase. Behind him, distantly, he heard Var shout for him but ignored it, pretending not to have heard. Whatever the rogue had to say would just have to wait.

"You cannot detect the Anchor?" Mathrel asked as he followed, feet clapping over the cobblestones and armor clinking.

"Not over the orb," he answered, though inwardly he added: _And not over magical interference from whoever she is with._ That meant her companion was most likely Morrigan as Solas doubted the sentinel elf understood such obstruction was possible. Only another Evanuris would know the value of—and _how to_ —mask the energies of the Anchor. But it also meant they were still close.

_Damn you, Mythal,_ he thought. But even as fury boiled his blood, scalding him from within, he knew he had no one but himself to blame for this. If he'd just hesitated and sought her approval first…

But she'd never have approved this. He knew that. It was why he'd set it in motion before discussing it with her to begin with.

The heat of his fury, previously aimed at Mythal, turned on himself. His stomach writhed and his guts twisted with self-hate. _Dirthara-ma, Fen'Harel,_ he cursed himself. _May you learn well._

* * *

They were outside the palace grounds now, running through a stretch of open road that curled lazily as it descended the gentle slope toward the city of Halamshiral below. Ellana groaned as she saw the orange light of fires dotting the city, cursing. "Fenedhis."

"Ah crap," Iron Bull grumbled, echoing her sentiment. "That doesn't look good."

"And here I was hoping the insanity in the palace was a localized phenomenon," Dorian said with a longsuffering sigh. "Yet somehow I'm not the least bit surprised."

As the road flattened out around a sharp bend, lithe figures stepped out of the bushes and brambles lining it on either side. At first Ellana's heart raced, muscles seizing with alarm, but the figures didn't attack and although Morrigan came to a stop at the sight of them, she didn't tense or adopt a defensive stature. Then Ellana noticed the distinctive shape of these elves' armor and let out a long breath of relief. They were sentinels.

"Mythal'enaste," Zaron's gruff voice greeted Morrigan as he nodded exaggeratedly to show respect. The other two sentinels did the same.

As Ellana looked over them she felt a niggling sensation at the edges of her mind. Considering it for a moment, she finally realized what was bothering her: Abelas wasn't with them. She started to open her mouth to ask about him and then clamped it shut again, recalling Abelas' bare face and the oblique comments he'd made about disagreeing with Mythal's plans and leaving her service. Had he simply defected to Solas' side? _No,_ she thought and almost laughed at herself for entertaining it even a moment.

"Boss?" Iron Bull asked her, his deep voice almost whispering it was so quiet. He arched the brow over his bad eye, silently emphasizing the question.

Licking her lips, she gripped the back of his neck and pulled herself forward as if to nuzzle his ear. The thought made something inside her chest ache with pain, remembering Solas, but she tabled it as she whispered, "I don't trust Morrigan."

"Hmm," he hummed and cast a glance down at Varric who stood at his side. The dwarf had been watching them as well, shrewd and clever as always. Though he couldn't have overheard their words, Ellana suspected he already guessed at the truth.

"So," Varric said, clapping his meaty hands together and raising his voice toward Morrigan and the sentinels ahead. Dorian turned as well, arching a brow. "What's the plan for dealing with this mess Chuckles has put together? You said something about removing the Anchor?"

"Yes," Dorian murmured, shooting Ellana a troubled look, brows furrowed. Facing Morrigan, he motioned back toward the palace. "How is it exactly that _you_ can remove the Anchor when—"

Morrigan interrupted him with a dismissive gesture of one hand. "Mythal can remove the Anchor from Lady Lavellan, but I do not have time to explain it and that was not my meaning, regardless. I intend to _remove_ Lady Lavellan from Fen'Harel's clutches."

"Ah," Dorian said, tilting his head back as understanding dawned. "I see."

"I will not consent to having the Anchor removed just yet," Ellana put in, shifting in Iron Bull's arms uncomfortably as the baby's weight pressed against her spine.

From behind Iron Bull, Thom Rainier called out, "Horses coming from the palace! Ready yourselves!"

With a grimace as another pain began to tighten over her abdomen, Ellana gnashed her teeth and tried to see up the road to where Rainier had been looking. Through the unguarded, open palace gates came four horses, their riders unclear as of yet with the distance but Ellana could see the glint of armor from three of the four of them. The horses were unsaddled, suggesting the riders had been in too much of a hurry to do anything but slip bridles onto the mounts before fleeing. Not fighters then, despite the armor, Ellana thought. Refugees, maybe? Fleeing the palace?

From within the palace grounds they heard ongoing shouting and screams, the roar of mage fire and the crackle of lightning. Then came a louder noise, a dull _whump_. A little shockwave raced toward them, faster than the horses. Ellana saw it coming as a slight mist, a thickening of turbulent air that held a faint greenish hue. It rippled grass and stirred up dust as it shot toward them. Passing over the riders it spooked the horses, making them whinny and stumble on the road, rearing and kicking.

"Brace yourselves," Rainier said and thrust out his shield.

Iron Bull muttered a curse and whipped around, using his back as his shield, hunkering over her and pulling Ellana even tighter to him. She clung to his neck, her breathing strangled through the ongoing and hopefully false labor pang gripping her. Then the shockwave hit with a loud hissing, pelting them with dust particles and the tingling of Elvhen magic swept over Ellana's skin. She whimpered, tensing as she anticipated she was about to be in even more pain.

Almost immediately after the wind of the shockwave had passed, Ellana's left hand crackled, flaring with heat and green light as it came alive. Pain tore through her palm and quickly arced up to her wrist and elbow. She cried out, releasing Iron Bull's neck to cradle her left hand with her right, fighting the convulsing motions of her muscles as the Anchor's magic seized them. It felt as though some invisible, unbreakable string tethered the fine bones of her palm to some cruel puppeteer who now wrenched on that tie, making her feel as though he intended to tear the bones and flesh right off her hand.

"Oh no," Dorian said breathily, suddenly at her side, reaching for her. "Ellana, let me see, let me help you."

"I can discharge it," Ellana insisted, her voice shrill and quaking as he grabbed at her hand. "Bull, put me down."

"Okay Boss," he said and lowered her legs to the ground. Dorian hovered near her, still trying to help, but Ellana pushed him away as she stumbled off the road. A budding bush scratched at her face as she stumbled into it, finding walking difficult with both the cumbersomeness of her belly and the dual pains of false contractions and the Anchor. Panting and sweating with pain, she forced herself to take a few more steps and then opened her palm, thrusting it out at the grass and bushes of the empty landscape ahead of her. It was easy to find the magic coiled in her arm and hand now, and with her experience as a mage in the Emerald Graves she knew how to will it to obey her even now without the Fade.

With a ringing noise, Ellana shot out a burst of green energy. The hills echoed with the _whump_ of the Anchor now as green magic coated Ellana like a thousand prickling needles, enveloping her. The pain in her palm receded down to an annoying sting. Green light gleamed from her hand, bright and distinctive, lighting up the night around her.

Shaking and weak at the knees, she tried to return to the road and stumbled. Dorian and Iron Bull were there at once. In only a few moments Ellana found herself dizzy and sweaty and inside Iron Bull's arms again. She leaned her head on his chest, panting as Dorian probed tentatively at her palm a moment before she tugged it out of his grasp. "It's fine," she said.

"We must move," Morrigan said and then, darkly humorous, added, "Do you still intend to keep the Anchor after that, Lady Lavellan?"

Ellana didn't answer her, focusing on the drumming sound of hoof beats on cobblestone instead. Rainier must've been doing the same for he yelled, "Everyone off the road! It's not worth it to fight this lot if they just want to run like us."

"You said it," Sera agreed.

They started hurrying off the road into the brush beside it, the dull thunder of the horses' hooves following them. Ellana watched over Iron Bull's shoulder as the riders neared them and then slowed. As they rounded the bend in the road the milky moonlight illuminated them and recognition made Ellana's heart leap in her chest.

"Commander Cullen! Leliana!"

Iron Bull and the others stopped at her shout, turning to look and confirming her words for themselves. Varric was the first to speak, raising his hands in a gesture of greeting as he grinned. "Curly! Ruffles! Imagine meeting you here. Enjoying the night air as much as we are?"

The horses drew to a stop, stamping their hooves and tossing their heads. Cullen surveyed them, his features twisting. "Varric?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

Leliana was faster on the draw, taking in the group and recognizing them at once. Her gaze landed particularly on Ellana. "Lavellan?" she asked, her voice tight.

Cullen's eyes narrowed and his posture changed, tensing. His right hand went to the haft of his sheathed sword. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing, really," Dorian said with a shake of his head. "We were just out for a lovely evening stroll, enjoying the night air, exactly as Varric said." Then he broke off, scoffing. "Honestly, what a fool question. We're _running away_ , same as you lot are."

Leliana asked, "You don't support what Solas is doing, Ellana?"

"Of course not," Ellana snapped with some heat, still struggling with the ache in her abdomen and the burning, stinging pain in her hand. "How could I? He did this without consulting me, without—" She broke off, gasping and choking as both emotion and pain swelled inside her, closing her throat.

"I see," Leliana said, voice somber. "Perhaps we should join forces." She directed the words not only at Cullen, who sat on his mount just ahead of her, but also to an unfamiliar rider wearing Inquisition armor and a grated helmet. Ellana gazed at the unfamiliar figure, discerning a female form beneath the ill-fitting armor. Who was she?

"No," Morrigan interjected, stepping forward and slashing the air with her hand. "Our mission and yours do not align."

"They don't?" Varric asked, tilting his head and smirking as if the entire affair was quietly hilarious. "Seems to me we're all trying to stop Chuckles, right?"

Morrigan stabbed a finger at the riders. "They will inevitably muster forces against Fen'Harel and refuse to relinquish the Dales. Those are _not_ our goals."

"Who is this _our_ you speak of, exactly?" Dorian asked with a growl. "I'm hearing you talk a lot and Ellana staying quiet as a mouse." He faced her, leveling the question at her directly. "Tell me, love, what do _you_ want?"

Ellana let out a choking laugh, dry and croaking, that became a half-sob. What did _she_ want? She envisioned the meadow near Wycome where her clan had been encamped when she and Solas had first visited them in the fall. On her tongue she could taste again the wine they'd drank the night they'd celebrated her return to them. In her ears she heard Lerand's birdcall with Negan's answer. She smelled their campfires, the crisp scent of spring rain falling after the long winter. The sweetness of lavender blooming in the spring.

But her left hand ached, throbbing in time with her heart, jarring her out of her thoughts. The part of her that longed for the simplicity and beauty of clan life was weak and broken, interested only in escapism. Yet she couldn't focus her mind beyond that, couldn't _think_ through the pain from her abdomen and her hand.

"I don't know," she finally managed to blurt, trembling in Iron Bull's arms.

Iron Bull gave a grunt. "I'd say what Boss really needs is something for the pain. She's shaking like a gutted nug." Leliana made a noise in her throat, something between disgust and rage, glaring at him. Iron Bull grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Red."

Cullen twisted on his mount, looking to the woman in Inquisition armor. "What are your orders?" he asked.

The woman shifted, tugging on her horse's reins, easing it ahead of Cullen slightly so she could survey the ragtag group with Ellana. Even through the haze of pain distracting her, Ellana saw something very familiar in the woman's militant bearing. The proud set of her shoulders, her ramrod straight back, and even the way she moved her head and gripped the reins. And as the answer jumped into her mind Ellana gasped, speaking the revelation aloud. "Cassandra."

The woman jerked her head toward Ellana and, after a long, pregnant pause, replied in the Nevarran's distinctive accent. "Ellana."

"You escaped," Ellana blurted, fighting against Iron Bull's arms, trying to get him to release her, but the warrior's grip wouldn't budge.

"I did," Cassandra replied with a nod of her helmeted head. "With Leliana and the commander's help."

Cool relief swept over Ellana and she sagged against Iron Bull, letting her eyes drift shut. "I was afraid he would kill you."

"He may yet," Cassandra said, grim and deep. "If he or his people catch me." Her hands on the reins of her mount tightened. "I _could_ order you apprehended and taken with us." She ignored the immediate chorus of shocked expletives from most of their former companions and added, "But I should not like to antagonize you, and we do not have time to fight amongst ourselves."

"I swear to you," Ellana ground out, the words strained and raw. "I did not wish for any of this to happen. I had no part in what he's done. I begged him to give the negotiations a chance. He wouldn't listen." She sucked in a wet breath, cutting herself off before she could lose control and start sobbing.

Cassandra nodded. "I believe you, but in truth I can also understand Solas' frustration. Celene had no interest in peace. She would have killed one or both of you eventually."

Ellana barked out a bitter laugh. "It would've been me." With a dry, wan smile, she mirrored Cassandra's earlier words as she added, "It may still be me, if she or her people catch me."

"Indeed." Cassandra turned her head and Ellana saw the light of the distant fires burning in Halamshiral below glinting off the metal in her helmet. "The city is aflame. It is not safe for any of us. There is strength in numbers." She hesitated a moment and then asked, "Will you come with us?"

"You cannot trust them," Morrigan insisted, a sharp note in her voice that rang with something like desperation. "She seeks to abduct you, Lady Lavellan. She will use you as a hostage—a bargaining point she can use against Fen'Harel."

"And isn't that what _you're_ doing as well?" Ellana retorted with a frown.

Morrigan's brow furrowed as she grimaced, recoiling and shaking her head as if Ellana had slapped her. "I am trying to help you and save the People. Mythal is the only one who can reclaim the Anchor from you safely. She may even be able to stabilize it for you without removing it."

"Right," Dorian drawled out the single word, scoffing. "And I'm Andraste's pretty pink pony."

"Whatever we do we should do it fast," Rainier said, using his sword to point at Halamshiral. "Things are just going to get worse for a while before they get better."

Huffing as the cramp eased up at long last, Ellana said, "We go together to Halamshiral. It's our best option. We can split up there if we want." Gripping Iron Bull more tightly, Ellana swallowed the nervous press of bile in her tight throat as she saw the angry twist of Morrigan's face and wondered what the witch would do, how she would react, when Ellana eventually refused her. Already she knew that the only people she trusted not to use her in some way against Solas were her former Inquisition companions—minus Cassandra.

Morrigan shook her head in disapproval and turned her back on Ellana, motioning to her sentinels to start heading down the road. "Ma nuvenin, Lady Lavellan," the witch said over her shoulder.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Steeling herself, planting her feet flat on the stone, Ellana thrust her hand up, willing the burning, stinging magic of the Anchor to bend to her will. It sizzled, crackling as it intensified, responding to her with the ardor of a lover—of the Dread Wolf himself, rousing to defend her from death. As the power spread, burning in her marrow, creeping up her forearm to the elbow, Ellana realized with a stab of cold terror that the Mark of the Rift she'd been trying to summon wouldn't come.

Something else, wild and uncontrolled, was stirring in the Anchor.


	38. Promise You'll Save My Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana struggles as the Anchor grows increasingly unstable. Solas realizes he's lost track of more than just his lover.

A large villa just outside the city was afire, tongues of orange flame lighting up the night as they licked at the heavens. There were elves darting in and out of it, bodies strewn around the burning structure. As Cullen, Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine drew nearer, leading the way on their mounts, one of the elves shouted at them. "Mien'harel! Our blades will taste your shemlen blood! We will end you!"

About fifteen elves emerged from the villa's yard, scrambling over the wall surrounding the property. In the flickering orange light from the fire, Ellana saw they'd ransacked the villa, dragging out valuables and laying them on the grass. The bodies were all richly dressed or wearing armor and their tall, thicker bodies revealed them as humans.

The sight made Ellana's stomach acids churn with nausea. _This shouldn't have happened,_ she thought. _This wasn't how it was supposed to be…_

"For the Inquisition!" Cullen roared as he raised his sword high overhead and spurred his mount at the first elves.

"For the Maker!" Cassandra added, also charging ahead with her sword drawn.

Both of them rushed the elves, slashing, but the elves dodged with deft dexterity, rolling or leaping so that both Cassandra and Cullen's blades missed as their mounts rushed by. Rainier bellowed his own fury and ran forward into the fray, shield raised and sword flashing as it reflected the orange firelight. He caught one of the elves who'd rolled clear of Cassandra's horse and impacted the lithe man with his shield, knocking him prone.

Dorian and Morrigan threw barriers over as many of their group as they could. The Tevinter focused on Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana,

Varric, Leliana, and Sera began firing at the elves, pummeling them with arrows. One of the elves dropped, an arrow through his neck. He spluttered and choked as blood spurted out of him. He tried to rise twice and then fell, giving in to bleed out on the grass.

A rogue uncloaked beside Cassandra's horse, cutting with a savage slash of his dagger, severing the beast's hamstring. The horse screamed, tossing its head and jerking its hind leg as it stumbled, falling onto its side. Cassandra cried out, scrambling to try and escape from its back, but the horse's weight came down on her leg as it fell. The impact knocked her helmet off, sending it clattering as it rolled away over the cobblestone.

The sound of the Divine's alarmed yelling made Ellana's heart lurch in her chest, sick with dread. "Cassandra!"

Varric scuttled closer to the fighting, firing Bianca as he ran. The rogue elf took a bolt in his hip and then another in his knee. He fell beside the thrashing, bleeding horse and one of its hooves caught him in the head. The rogue went limp. Varric ran for Cassandra. "Hold on, Cass!"

Iron Bull made an unhappy noise in his throat as he kept Ellana in his arms, edging backward from the villa wall, turning his head to the left to scan the battle with his single good eye. Ellana gritted her teeth together, aware of her arrow quiver still on her back but remembering that she'd lost her bow in the winter palace's courtyard. "Let me down, Bull," she told him, tapping his arms and then his chest, squirming. "They need you and I can stand."

"I won't leave you unprotected," Iron Bull grumbled. "They've got this."

An archer leapt atop the villa wall nearby, drawing her bow and firing with a cry. The arrow whined as it cut through the air and then made a dull thwacking sound as it hit its target—Iron Bull's right shoulder. The massive warrior grunted at the impact and Ellana started, gaping and stammering, "Bull!"

Now he did let her down, but only to push her behind him as he reached for his great axe, glowering at the archer. "You're going to regret that."

The archer loosed another arrow but Iron Bull swung with his axe, knocking it away and roaring with a laugh. "Ha! Is that all you've got?" He charged for the wall and the archer lost her nerve, trying to scramble backward and out of reach of his swinging axe, but she wasn't fast enough. Iron Bull's axe caught her at the knees, severing them in a spray of gore. Her screams as she fell back into the villa's yard made Ellana grimace with sympathy even as she reminded herself that the archer would've killed them all without hesitation.

Ahead of them Rainier had moved to defend Cassandra and Varric as three elves closed in around them, like sharks smelling blood and anticipating a frenzy. Rainier cleaved one of the lithe figures from shoulder to navel, his blade making short work of their unprotected, unarmored bodies. Another he shield bashed, seeming to shrug off the dagger stab the last elf made at his side. He merely pivoted and slammed his armored elbow into the man's face, immediately making blood spurt and knocking the elf away.

"Shite elfy-elves," Sera shouted above the roar of the fire and the clash of steel against steel. "Eat my arrows!"

Cullen rode in and took off the head of the last elf still facing off with Rainier, then circled his horse around and leapt from it. He sliced the flailing, bleeding horse's neck with a quick flash of his blade. Blood spurted and the horse thrashed with even more desperation for a heartbeat before it weakened and went limp. Cullen hurried to help Varric free Cassandra. Once they'd gotten her out, Cullen took her arm and pushed her toward his own horse. "Hang back," he shouted to her. "You're too important to risk—"

"Not another word," Cassandra growled through a clenched jaw, teeth flashing through the dark and glinting orange in the firelight. She pulled her shield from her back and raised it, striding to stand with Rainier and calling to Varric over her shoulder, "Back us up, dwarf!"

"Yes, your holiness," Varric quipped at her. "And you're _welcome!"_ Bianca clacked as Varric fired at another elven archer who'd just leapt onto the boundary wall surrounding the villa.

Breathing hard and with her eyes glued to the battle, Ellana almost missed the crunch of dirt nearby as Morrigan and her sentinels took up defensive positions around her. When she noticed them, Ellana scowled and jabbed a finger at the fighting. "What are you doing here by me? Can't you see they need your help?"

The sentinels—Zaron, Arina, and Darae—stared at her blankly, impassive and unreadable. Morrigan gestured, her hand gleaming blue as she cast a barrier over Iron Bull, who'd moved to engage another elf who'd tried to flank Cassandra, Rainier, Varric, and Cullen. "We _are_ helping, Ellana," she said without looking at her. "We are protecting _you."_

Snarling with frustration at being virtually helpless, Ellana glared down at her left hand. It was still glowing, glittering green like an emerald catching the sunlight. She flexed her hand, seeing the seam along her palm. It burned, as if the marrow in the small bones of her palm had been set aflame. Grimacing, she felt the dried blood caked on her face from the fight in the palace's courtyard crack and scrubbed at her cheeks and forehead. Why hadn't she had the presence of mind to pick up her bow in the courtyard? She was defenseless now…

Except she wasn't.

The Anchor gleamed brighter as she looked at it again. Solas' voice echoed through her mind, warning her not to use it. Sucking in a breath, she asked, "Mythal can stabilize the mark without removing it?"

Morrigan twisted her head, frowning as she searched over Ellana's face. Then, as if losing interest, she turned away and cast more barriers over the fighters. "Mythal believes so, yes." She made a face, wrinkling her nose and wincing as if in pain before she added, "It... _may_ be only temporarily stabilized..."

_Of course,_ Ellana thought as she clenched her left hand again. The baby kicked inside her, as if expressing his opinion by reminding her that it wasn't merely her life at stake.

Cassandra, Rainier, and Cullen worked as a solid wall, cutting and then blocking with their shields. Every so often one of them lunged with a shield bash, smashing the nearest elf who'd drawn too close. Varric and Sera provided archer support, aiming for vulnerable necks, heads, and guts to stagger enemy archers and rogues. Leliana lingered back from the fighting on her mount beside Josephine, who wore no armor and carried no weapon. In the orange light of the fire Ellana saw the spymaster's lips drawn back in a snarl, the dark determination as she drew her bow and loosed her arrows stirred the awful memory of the Elder One's future in Redcliffe, making Ellana's heart ache with remembered loss.

The elven rebels lost their nerve as more and more of them fell to the combined assault. Finally, spitting curses at the mixed group, the elves broke off and ran toward the villa. Their thin, elegant forms stark against the raging inferno.

The warriors sheathed their swords and holstered their shields. Rainier and Sera moved over the bodies of the fallen elves, slitting throats to put survivors out of their misery. As always, they also searched quickly for valuable or useful items, just as they would have after a battle with the Inquisition.

Cassandra waved Cullen off when he again offered her his mount and instead strode toward Ellana. Varric trotted after her, his short legs pumping to keep up with her long-legged, elegant gait. One hand on her hip, she cocked a leg out as she frowned unhappily at Ellana. Firelight lit one half of her face in orange-yellow.

Ellana tensed as she saw Leliana spur her horse away from her protective position beside Josephine and into the road instead. In that spot she separated Rainier, Sera, and Dorian, who was with Iron Bull, attending to the arrow in the Tal-Vashoth warrior's shoulder. Cullen had remounted his horse and now stood in the road further down, a tense figure lit by the blazing fire in the villa. Both of her former advisors were in positions to either cut off retreat or block Ellana's more scattered companions from interfering if Cassandra ordered her arrest.

"Cassandra," Ellana called to her over the lump in her throat. "Are you all right?"

The warrior nodded somberly. "I am." She pointed to Ellana's left hand. "Are you?"

Forcing herself to smile, Ellana shook out her hand, willing the Anchor to calm. "It's nothing."

Cassandra huffed, clearly unconvinced; yet she let the topic slide. "The city is not safe, Ellana. Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and I will skirt around it and head for Val Royeaux." She paused, shifting her stance and shuffling her feet. "I'd very much prefer if you accompanied us. Everyone with you is welcome to journey with us."

Morrigan edged closer, as if planning to stand between Ellana and Cassandra. "This is exactly what I predicted, is it not? She intends to hold you captive against Fen'Harel."

Cassandra frowned with distaste. "I will not lie. You are a valuable player in this struggle. But you are also my friend, despite everything that has happened. I make this offer as much to ensure you are safeguarded as to gain a measure of protection against Solas and his forces."

"See?" Morrigan said with a snarl and a dismissive, angry gesture of one hand. "She even admits it."

Making a disgruntled noise in her throat, Cassandra ignored Morrigan's comment and kept her attention on Ellana. "You know I would never harm you, Ellana. I may disagree with Solas but—"

"Would you take my child away?" Ellana interrupted, her voice sharp.

Cassandra scowled, shaking her head with a baffled expression. "What? No, of course not."

Arching an eyebrow with disbelief, Ellana clarified her question. "You're saying even if my child is a mage you won't force him into a Circle?"

Now Cassandra grimaced as understanding dawned. "I see." She huffed, shoulders heaving. "If your little one remained as one of the Dalish there would be no need for a Circle."

"And if I do not rejoin the Dalish? My clan has too many mages already. Would you force my baby into a Circle, to be imprisoned the rest of his life?"

Cassandra's eyes darted away and the silent moment stretched. The answer was in the tight set of her features, the way her lips thinned into a hard, straight line. Cassandra might want to break rules for Ellana, but she would never actually do it. Ellana could see the future stretching out for her if she joined Cassandra and the Inquisition. She'd give birth and perhaps become Inquisitor again. Cassandra and the Inquisition would use her as leverage against Solas, pressuring her for whatever knowledge she carried of his powers, his plans, and his secrets. And as soon as her baby displayed a hint of magic, or possibly before considering who its father was, Templars would arrive and forcibly take her child away to a Circle. Would they even tell her which Circle? Would they ever allow her to see her child?

As awful as this bloody rebellion was, as many lives as it claimed—both human and elven—Ellana realized that she could overlook it, push it aside if it promised her child would be safe. The powerful swell of maternal instinct tightened inside her chest like a fist, making her core body weak while her limbs seemed to become weak and light. With a quavering breath, she gripped her belly with one hand and forced the feeling aside, trying to focus past it. She couldn't let her warring emotions blind her from the moral truth that Solas had miscalculated and committed a monstrous act that she refused to be part of. He'd chosen violence when they could have used their allies in the Inquisition to escape peacefully and without drawing the ire of the rest of Thedas.

The ends _did not_ always justify the means. That was the kind of thinking that had made Solas give Corypheus his orb and had inadvertently led to the conclave explosion and the deaths of thousands. It was the kind of mistake that seemed to follow the Dread Wolf like his very shadow.

"Thank you for your generous offer, Divine Victoria," Ellana told Cassandra. "But I'm afraid I must decline."

Cassandra nodded, her eyes saddened even while her mouth held its hard, unyielding line. "Understood," she said. "Then I'm afraid this is farewell, my friend."

"Dareth shiral, falon," Ellana told her with a dip of her chin. "Go in peace and be safe."

"And you," Cassandra answered, brow furrowing with emotion. She gestured toward Ellana's pronounced belly. "I wish you well and good health for the coming birth. Maker watch over you."

The lump in Ellana's throat had returned, swelling painfully. "And you."

Cassandra turned away and walked to Leliana's mount. The spymaster scooted backward on the horse's back, then leaned downward and extended her hand to Cassandra. With a grunt the former Seeker took her place ahead of the spymaster and gripped the horse's reins tightly in her leather gloved hands. With a last nod at Ellana and then at Dorian, she jerked on the reins and directed the horse to leave the road. Cullen and Josephine both followed her, each slowing to nod at Ellana with respect.

"Wait," Varric shouted before Josephine's horse left the road. "Cassandra!" He scrambled to the edge of the road, waving one beefy arm.

Cassandra tugged on her horse's reins, pulling it up short. The horse stamped its feet and tossed its head, irritated at the abrupt stops. "Yes, Varric?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she stared down at him. Leliana behind her wore a closed-lipped smirk.

Josephine and Cullen had both halted as well, watching with confusion or amusement as Varric clambered his way off the road and closer to the Divine's horse. "Let me come with you," he called to both women and then gestured toward Josephine. "You could use another bodyguard and I'm lightweight enough that Ruffles won't even notice if I share her horse."

Cassandra shot him an uneasy look before glancing over her shoulder at Leliana, as if she needed the spymaster's opinion or permission. Leliana gave a slight nod, her smile widening. With a sigh, Cassandra said, "If everyone is agreed, I welcome your help." She paused a moment and then added, slightly disgruntled, "Just don't complain the whole way if the ride is bumpy."

"Not a peep, Seeker, I promise." The dwarf trotted toward Josephine's mount and accepted the hand she offered to help swing him up onto the horse behind her. Then, from his spot there, he shot Ellana a sad smile. "I hope you can forgive me bowing out of your party before the end of the story, but…" His gaze flew to the horse carrying Cassandra and Leliana, who'd already started walking again.

"I understand and there's nothing to forgive," Ellana said and smiled. She'd read enough of Varric's books to sense the lingering…something…the dwarf felt for Cassandra. And she, likely, felt for him, too, though she'd never admit it or never act on it as Divine. Most of his romances involved couples that started out loathing each other and then wound up falling in love, after all. Ellana wasn't a writer herself, but she knew art frequently imitated reality.

"You still have to write to me when the kid's born. I have a lot of coin riding on it being a boy, you know." He flashed a grin as Josephine dug her heels into the horse's flank, following Cullen as he left the road. "Take care of yourself, Lavender!"

She watched the three horses heading off, cutting a wide circle around the city's edges and picking up speed over the grassy hills. As the wind shifted it brought the scalding heat of the flames from the fiery villa against Ellana's back and she shuddered, coughing as the smoke stung her eyes and throat. She felt exhausted, hollowed out and weak, her throat tight with emotion at the farewells and her own self-doubts.

But then thumping footsteps drew her gaze up and she saw Rainier clomping toward her, his armor clanking. He held out a bow when he reached her. "One of the elven archers had this," he explained and shrugged. "Seemed a waste to leave it with the dead."

She took the bow from him with a tentative smile. "Thank you, Thom."

"How far into the city is this place we're going?" Iron Bull asked, flexing his arm as Dorian finished applying healing magic and cleaning the wound as best he could.

"`Tis a few miles yet," Morrigan answered. "I will lead the way." She stepped forward, her crinoline bustle ridiculous in their current setting far outside the palace and with the carnage of the rebellion all around them. The fine fabric was stained with blood and frayed.

Iron Bull made mock swinging motions with both arms, wincing slightly as he strained the wound. Seeing it, Dorian edged forward to give him another dose of healing magic but Iron Bull stopped him with a hard pat to the back. "Not bad, for a Vint."

Dorian scoffed. "A backhanded compliment. How I adore you and your brutish charms." Looking to Ellana he said, "Can we get going, old girl? My hair's going to smell like smoke for a week if we don't leave soon."

"I like that smell," Iron Bull quipped. Then, growing serious as Dorian scowled at him with distaste, Iron Bull spoke to Ellana again. "Not sure I can carry you very well anymore, Boss. I will if I have to though. But, you should know, I'm going to need to leave like Varric once we get wherever it is we're going. The Chargers were in Halamshiral. I need to find my men."

Ellana nodded at him. "Don't worry about me, Bull. I can walk." At his doubtful stare she squared her shoulders and walked at as fast a pace as she could manage. The sentinels moved after her, shadowing her the way Solas would if he were there with her.

Rainier fell into step beside her and spoke quietly, "I don't trust the witch."

"Welcome to the club," Ellana said with a tight laugh. "I don't either. But she was my only way to get away from Solas."

"He locked you up?" Rainier asked, anger roughening his words.

"Not…exactly. He put a sleep spell on me and left me under guard." She grimaced, hearing how much it _did_ sound like that.

Rainier's lips twisted downward under the thick carpet of his beard. "He locked you up."

"We disagreed rather vehemently," Ellana mumbled, averting her eyes to stare at the distant burning structures of the villa. Embers floated on the air, like specks of orange stars or distant lanterns floating into the sky. It would have been beautiful if she didn't pause to think about how some noble family had been slaughtered.

"And now you're doing the only thing you can to stop him," Rainier observed. He nudged her left arm, indicating the Anchor. "Admirable, as always, my lady."

Ellana sighed. "Not really, Thom." She hung her head, blinking and gnashing her teeth as she tried to bite back tears. "Without the Anchor Solas won't be able to hold Halamshiral against the rest of Thedas. He'll either have to retreat and render all this—" She gestured jerkily at the burning villa and the smoking city ahead with her right hand. "—a huge pointless waste, or he'll wage a war he can't win that will kill thousands of my people."

"Your people?" Rainier asked, confusion thickening his voice. "I thought—"

"Solas is _Elvhen,_ an ancient elf," she explained. "You wouldn't see a distinction, but he does." She frowned as they walked, feeling a heat burning on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the hot wind from the fires off to their right along the road. "Most _Elvhen_ see modern elves as inferior."

"And everyone else, naturally," Dorian put in, edging forward to take a position on Ellana's right. "Most of them are broody and just as pretentious as Solas, too. I rather think the modern elves are a _vast_ improvement. And, as we're all well aware, I have _impeccable_ taste, so of course I'm right."

When Ellana only shot him a withering look Dorian's shoulders fell. "Cheer up, darling. I'm here and unlike the dwarf and that hulking horned beast behind us—" Iron Bull let out a loud snort at that. "—I'm not about to abandon you. After we're done with whatever Morrigan has planned to stabilize your Anchor, might I suggest we head toward Tevinter?"

"Tevinter?" Ellana repeated, gawking.

"That sounds like a bloody terrible idea, Dorian," Rainier grumbled, idly stroking his beard and picking out a fleck of ash that'd gotten caught in it.

"Just consider it for a moment," Dorian insisted, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I'm a Magister and I'm on my way home. And with me I have my two elven servants and my bodyguard."

"Sera's coming with us?" Rainier asked incredulously. All three of them looked toward the elven archer walking up ahead, seemingly paying them no mind.

Dorian shrugged, unbothered by Rainier's doubt. "If she isn't then I'll simply have one elven servant." He clucked his tongue, shooting Ellana a mischievous look. "And what a troublemaker she is, running off to have some kind of torrid love affair with that devastatingly handsome Inquisition commander." He shook his head with feigned shock. "I simply can't take her anywhere!"

Ellana tried to muster up a laugh but couldn't. Staring ahead, she clutched the bow Rainier had given her tighter, trying to ignore the ache in her back and the lingering discomfort of the false labor pangs as they passed beneath the enormous gilded gates of Halamshiral—and found chaos.

* * *

Over the course of a half-hour, Solas had checked the winter palace's storage room with the eluvian that Zevanni had used and, finding it dark and with no trace of the Anchor's magic lingering, he moved onto the other mirrors in different rooms. All three other mirrors were dark as well, cold when he probed them with his magical senses. They hadn't been used recently. Even if he'd been Tranquil, Solas could've guessed that from the fine layer of dust over the glass that came away when he touched the surfaces.

"She didn't come this way," Mathrel observed behind him in the darkness of the storage room. Crates littered the space, some with cobwebs woven into the corners where spiders had made their homes unbothered for years. Moonlight streamed in through the ornate, gold-tinted windows along one side of the room.

"I can see that," Solas muttered, his thoughts spinning out in every direction as horror slowly turned the pit of his stomach into a block of ice. What had he missed? Where could she have gone?

He'd received word from an elven runner he'd encountered in the hallway earlier as he made his way to the storage wing that Zevanni had taken Celene and Briala captive, alive and unharmed as he'd stipulated. He'd asked the runner if Ellana had been there with the Marquise and the empress, but he'd seemed baffled at the question and that was answer enough. They would be waiting on him to confront both rulers along with Divine Victoria. He felt the tug of that responsibility like a collar at his neck, cutting off his breath as he fought against its grip while trying to find Ellana.

_It wasn't supposed to happen like this,_ the panicky voice in the back of his mind kept repeating. Ellana was supposed to be safe. That was why he'd done this—to end the constant threat of assassination and further their goal of reclaiming and restoring the Dales as an elven homeland. That _was_ why he'd done this, right?

His stomach lurched inside him as he realized he wasn't sure anymore. Had it really just been as simple as that he saw the promise of easy power through chaos and hadn't been able to resist? Had he let the outrage and frustration he felt at being so visible to the humans, with a huge target painted on both of their backs, fuel him into a bloodthirsty rebellion? Was this rebellion a form of vengeance to soothe his wounded ego?

_No,_ he thought and snarled to himself, whipping around and stomping for the door and the hallway beyond it. Distantly, shouts and the roar of fire echoed, making Solas' heart pound. Ellana had to be somewhere in this mess and now the palace was burning.

He couldn't ignore his rebellion or leave it to run its course entirely undirected. If he did the palace would likely burn to the ground and as much as he found it to be a gaudy, vulgar display of Orlais' ridiculous opulence and pretentiousness, it'd still be a shameful waste if it wound up as rubble by the following morning.

"We must organize a force to put out the fires," Solas commented and, after pausing a moment to pinpoint the source of the nearest battle sounds, began to trot that way. He quashed the trembling, impulsive thought that hit him from that ice pit in his stomach: _Ellana's going to die. Just like Mother and Father. Just like Mythal._

No, he would find Ellana somewhere in the palace, trying to make her way to the empress or to Cassandra.

He stopped mid-step, eyes widening suddenly. _Cassandra._

The scene in the courtyard earlier replayed through his mind: the four horses and their riders, all three Inquisition advisors and then the woman in Inquisition armor, the shield on her back… _Why would Templars and Inquisition soldiers send that single guard woman with Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana?_

But he already knew.

"Fenedhis," he growled, covering his face with shaking hands. "I'm such a _fool."_

"Fen'Harel?" Mathrel asked behind him a note of alarm coloring his voice.

Remembering the fires, Solas pivoted to the arcane warrior and said, "Put together a group to douse the flames set by the conflict."

"Where are you going?" Mathrel asked, eyes narrowing.

"There is something I must check," Solas replied, already charging back the way they had come. He needed to find Zevanni or—Var. He recalled the rogue had been in the fight with the Templars and Inquisition soldiers in the courtyard and he'd called out to him. But Solas had ignored him...

"What's wrong?" Mathrel asked, his feet thumping over the polished marble in the hallway as he made to follow Solas.

Whipping around, nostrils flaring and body aflame with the heat of impotent, frustrated rage, Solas snapped, "Do as I say. Attend to the fires. I do not require your help."

Mathrel flinched back from the ferocity in Solas' voice and expression, but recovered quickly, going stoic again. "Yes, hahren. It will be as you say." Turning on his heel, he trotted away down the hall.

Solas resumed his fevered pace for a few moments before pausing to reach for his mana core, preparing to teleport into the courtyard to pick up the trail from there. There was no time to waste. Ellana had probably sought out the Divine, perhaps to turn herself over to the Chantry and the Inquisition. Had she been caught up in the fighting? Or had she helped the Divine escape? Had she met up with them outside the palace? Was she dead? Had she completely betrayed him, ignoring the danger to herself and their child to let them use her as a hostage against him?

The wild swirl and press of his emotions made his will murky, scattering his intention and manifesting the mana he drew from his core as _fire._ One moment he'd braced for teleportation, and the next his ears were ringing and the windows in the hallway around him had shattered, spraying glass over him. Scorch marks surrounded him and the drapes were burning.

_Stop,_ he commanded himself, breathing deeply several times before he summoned a blizzard spell. His breath fogged around his mouth with each exhalation and the air turned white, snow raining out of it. The fires smoked and shrank, sputtering until they went out entirely. Solas didn't feel the cold, only the rage still scalding his blood from within.

_Focus,_ he ordered and cast veilfire, idly playing with it even as he glowered down at the floor, unseeing. The green flames wove and curled over and around his fingers. Concentrating on that delicate task gradually brought his rage under control and finally, at long last, he reached for his core again and this time the magic worked flawlessly.

He disappeared in a flicker of purple-black spirit flames.

* * *

Halamshiral had once been a gleaming place, brimming with beauty from both Orlesian excess and the natural glamor that the elves had imparted on it when it was their capital city. Ellana had ridden through it several times during the day, over the main thoroughfare that cut through the city and to the winter palace beyond. In those instances the city had been blocked off to allow her retinue—both Inquisition and elven later—safe passage without interference from the populace. Now there was no authority, Orlesians or Inquisition or otherwise, and the city populous had erupted into pandemonium.

Fires blazed in every other building, or over whole blocks, consuming the structures down to ashes. Figures darted about, furtive and quick. Most of them were elven, ransacking stores and noblemen's homes. Morrigan led them down curving side streets, lined by fire and death. They passed signs of conflict, casual horrors that'd happened only minutes or hours previously—a human woman's corpse stripped naked and hung from a lamppost, children dead in the street with their eyes staring and their throats slit, and severed limbs left laying in a cart as if someone had been collecting them.

Ellana worried that the nobleman's house Morrigan was leading them toward would have burned to the ground by now, but as they rounded a sharp bend the witch pointed to the far end of the block at an untouched house. "There it is," she announced. "I placed wards against fire just a few days ago. `Tis most fortunate I remembered to do so."

"Bout time," Sera complained. "So tired of all this frigging mess."

Ellana had to agree with her, but inwardly. Her head was pounding from the stink of smoke. Her throat burned and her lungs felt raw. "Let's hurry," she said. "Before we—"

"Look out!" Rainier shouted and thrust his shield up in front of Iron Bull's head just in time to stop the incoming arrow from hitting him. It bounced off with a dull thwack and immediately the mages threw barriers up over them all with a slick click-pop and the tingle of magic.

Shapes poured out from both sides of the street, leaping over property boundary walls that separated the yards of these houses. Ellana's eyes flicked all around them, sensing the movement and feeling dizzy as she lost count of how many elves there were. Cold dread opened up in the pit of her stomach as she realized they were outnumbered. More arrows flew at them, but the blue magic of the barriers repelled them, yet already the first rogues and warriors were charging toward them, ready to cut them down.

Ellana raised her bow, nocked her first arrow, and fired into the smoky haze at the nearest approaching elven figure. Sera let out a shout and did the same. Rainier combat rolled forward, crashing into a warrior's legs and knocking him over. Popping upright with surprising dexterity and nimbleness, Rainier stabbed down into the elf warrior's chest. Two more elves were already closing in on him though and dozens more were still converging on their group.

"Mien'harel! Mien'harel!" they shouted, mad with bloodlust and carnage fueled by lifetimes of oppression. Whether they noticed that most of this group was actually _elven_ , Ellana didn't know. Perhaps they only noticed Morrigan's fancy bustle and Ellana's fur-lined and fashionable coat. The sentinel elves might look like hired sell-swords to them, and they _were_ slightly thicker built as Elvhen warriors.

Still firing, Ellana tried to shout to them, to make them see reason. "We're not nobles! Please, stop this!"

Iron Bull roared, rushing at the nearest three elven attackers, spinning in a circle and hewing them down with his axe. But he only managed to hit one of the elves. The other two rolled away, dodging. One darted in close with his blade, stabbing into Iron Bull's side.

Grunting, Iron Bull whipped in the direction of that rogue and elbowed him in the face. The elf fell prone, his face a bloody mess from the single blow. Iron Bull slammed his great axe down on the rogue's chest for good measure. It all happened close enough to Ellana that bits of the gore splattered her coat and she somehow managed to smell the iron tang of blood beneath the acrid stink of the burning air.

Dorian hurled a fireball at Iron Bull's other flank, lighting up the other rogue stalking in close to him. As the rogue dropped to the ground and rolled, trying to put out the fire, Dorian made a fist and twirled his staff, casting chain lightning and winter's grasp back to back, killing the elf. He sprang to Iron Bull, hurrying to heal him.

Ellana kept firing, panicked and with her heart drumming in her ears, as loud as any of the roaring fires burning in the city. _There's too many of them,_ she thought. They'd be overrun soon.

A familiar female voice cried out with pain and Ellana whipped her head in time to see a warrior had managed to get in close to Darae. He'd rammed his sword through a gap in her armor, piercing her all the way through. Blood splattered like rain on the cobblestones and Morrigan shouted, "No!"

Ellana fired at the attacker, catching him in the neck. He choked, gasping and clawing at the arrow as his strength failed him. He and Darae both collapsed, limbs entwined like lovers. Zaron rushed to kneel at Darae's side, shouting her name. His palms glowed blue with healing magic—but two more elves, both rogues, lunged for him, blades slashing.

With a roar, Rainier slammed into them both, barreling over them. Hacking with his sword, he severed one elf's arm and stabbed the other through the chest.

"Running out of arrows," Sera shouted, her voice shrill with fear. "Fuck! Not s'post to go like this! Gutted by droopy ear's shite friends."

Gritting her teeth, Ellana yelled at the top of her lungs, hoping to give their attackers pause. "Fen'Harel enansal! Mythal'enaste! Fen'Harel sul'ema mien'harel!"

She saw one of the closer attackers, a female warrior, pause as she peered at Ellana over her raised shield and sword. But a second later Dorian lobbed a chunk of ice at her and she cried out, turning the shield to deflect it just in time. Then she lunged for the Tevinter mage, murder in her face and body language.

With the lump in her throat swelling even tighter, Ellana nocked her arrow and fired at the warrior, catching her in the neck just as she had the other elf earlier. When she reached back to her quiver for another arrow she felt only a few more of them remaining and her stomach seemed to drop to the cobblestones underfoot. _We're going to die here, less than a block from the eluvian…_

Solas had said the truest story he knew of Fen'Harel was that the Dread Wolf brought death to those closest to him. Now it seemed his words held the power of self-prophecy. His rebellion in Elvhenan against Elgar'nan had inadvertently killed his parents and destroyed his village. Now his impromptu revolution in the winter palace and Halamshiral would kill her and his unborn child. The sick humor of it made Ellana laugh until she was gasping, sobbing through blurry tears as she struggled to aim and fire.

And then she noticed the green glow on her palm.

Tossing down the bow, Ellana reached within herself for the Anchor and felt the dull ache intensify as it stirred. The crackling noise it made as it flared in her palm was lost to the sound of fighting and the fires burning around them, broiling the very air. With a cry of pain, Ellana discharged the Anchor, gritting her teeth against the pain as light exploded from it and some of the magic spread up and over. Through the thick, smoky scene the Anchor gleamed like a precious jewel with the light of the Fade, illuminating the tiny flecks of ash and debris in the haze.

"Brace yourselves," she shouted at the others as she rushed forward, her quiver thumping against her back. She saw Morrigan gawking at her for a heartbeat before she cast a barrier over Ellana, Arina, Zaron, and Rainier.

"Ellana," Morrigan yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Saving our asses," Ellana called back to her. She left the protective huddle of their group and the nearby elven attackers quickly moved to cut her down. Ellana tensed as a rogue's blade thumped into her shoulder, but the magic of the Anchor discharge made her invulnerable. The blade bent and shattered, destroyed by the magic rather than penetrate her flesh. A warrior swung at her head, but Ellana ducked, weaving around him.

Breathing hard, she saw there were at least eight elven attackers close by—that'd have to be enough. She only had a few more heartbeats before the invulnerability of the Anchor discharge wore off. An arrow came flying in and struck her belly, making her hiss at the impact, but it bounced off, crumbling into ash. Another one streaked by her head, narrowly missing.

Steeling herself, planting her feet flat on the stone, Ellana thrust her hand up, willing the burning, stinging magic of the Anchor to bend to her will. It sizzled, crackling as it intensified, responding to her with the ardor of a lover—of the Dread Wolf himself, rousing to defend her from death. As the power spread, burning in her marrow, creeping up her forearm to the elbow, Ellana realized with a stab of cold terror that the Mark of the Rift she'd been trying to summon wouldn't come.

Something else, wild and uncontrolled, was stirring in the Anchor instead.

Gasping, she watched with horror as the Anchor's green light expanded over her arm, glimmering, and with lightning-like tendrils licking through the air. The tingling over her face as it touched her made her skin dimple with gooseflesh. The attackers around her had halted, eyes wide and mouths agape with shock. She felt the magic swelling, the pain growing white hot until she screamed with it, tossing her head back, all coherent thought obliterated.

With an almost metallic bang-whump, the green light burst out from the Anchor, sizzling like meat on a grill as it expanded in a circle. The touch of it whipped over her skin and pierced her, setting every nerve afire with both burning and—pleasure. It was the same enjoyable sensation she'd gotten a taste of when she'd been able to cast magic herself and when she'd touched the Fade. Every muscle, bone, sinew, and organ twitched and sang with bliss intermixed with agony.

The force of the explosion threw Ellana backward, her feet skidding over the cobblestones. She stumbled forward, catching herself with her right hand. Panting and sweating, trembling body wide, she raised her head and saw the carnage she'd wrought. Charred elves lay around where she'd stood, a few bits of ragged flesh here and there. Nothing but bleeding limbs and ash lay closest to the spot where she'd unleashed the blast. The air around her was clearer, with the smoke forced away.

Her companions were still cringing, but miraculously appeared unharmed, though Darae was still prone, possibly dead. Ellana's head spun, her heart pounding. She staggered as she tried to stand up. She kept her left hand held out awkwardly from her body, as if touching herself would leave a burn. The Anchor still glowed in a faint seam along her palm; the ache remained as well.

Worst of all, Ellana could feel the magic tendrils of the Anchor twining up her arm, even if it showed no sign of it when she looked to it. Solas had been right that he'd need to take her entire forearm. Ellana had never realized before that the Anchor had bonded to her beyond her hand, but clearly it had.

Footsteps thumped over the ground and a moment later Ellana felt strong male hands under her armpits, hauling her upright. She raised her head to see Iron Bull and Dorian. Their mouths moved but the words were dim. Her ears were ringing from the explosion. She tried to concentrate on their lips to understand them.

"Are you all right?" Dorian asked, laying as hand to her cheek.

She huffed, out of breath despite doing so little. "I think so."

"What was that, Boss?" Iron Bull asked.

She let out a weak chuckle. "It was _supposed_ to be Mark of the Rift…"

"`Twas a blast," Morrigan said, drawing both men's stares as she pressed forward, reaching for Ellana, her expression grim. "Mythal's knowledge tells me that such a tool was only ever meant for Fen'Harel. Only an Evanuris can control and channel the Anchor's energy. The power of it will destroy you."

With her head still spinning, Ellana groaned. "Tell me something I _don't_ know, Morrigan." She sagged against Iron Bull's grip on her shoulders. "Did it work at least? Are we safe?"

"The elves ran off," Dorian confirmed. "We appear to be safe for the moment."

"I think you'll have to carry me again," Ellana murmured, her eyelids drifting closed. "I'm just so…exhausted."

Dorian tapped her cheek. "Stay awake, love. Be strong. We're almost there."

She swallowed, nodding. As Iron Bull shifted, stooping slightly to grab her legs, Ellana reached out and grabbed Dorian's overcoat, ignoring the bloodstains and charring on it. The action stopped Iron Bull as he frowned with puzzlement. Pressing close to Dorian, she forced herself not to choke as she said, "If it looks like the Anchor is going to kill me, I need you or one of the others to cut off my arm at the elbow."

He gawped at her, horror widening his eyes. "Ellana—you cannot be serious."

"She is," Morrigan said, gravely. "The blast could kill all of us as it consumes her."

"What a simply _lovely_ thought,"Dorian snarled, glaring at the witch. "How good of you to consider the danger to _us_ rather than—"

"And if you can't save me, or if you even _think_ you can't save me," Ellana went on, licking her dry, chapped lips. "Promise me you'll save my baby."

"Ellana," Dorian rasped, halfway raising his hands palms up as if to ward her off. "Don't—"

"I don't care what it takes," Ellana interrupted him, making a fist as she gripped his collar and gave him a little shake. "Don't let him die with me. Cut him out of me, give him a chance. And…" she let out a breathy, tearless sob. "Take my baby to Solas."

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian growled, gripping her shoulders and squeezing. "Stop this insane babble. You're going to be _fine._ "

"I agree with the Tevinter," Morrigan said then, interjecting. "You _will be_ fine, as long as we hurry." She tapped Ellana's left hand. "The Anchor is building strength even outside of battle. We must leave before you must discharge it again with another blast."

Clenching her jaw, Ellana refused to release Dorian. "Promise me," she hissed. "Promise me if it comes to it, you'll save my baby and take him to Solas."

Dorian laid his hand over hers. The sweaty palm was hot and clammy. "I promise," he said staring at her without blinking. "But I will also promise it won't come to that."

She released him, shoulders slumping. "Thank you." Lurching toward Iron Bull, she let him take her up in his arms. Head lolling against his chest, Ellana lapsed in and out of blackness, only vaguely aware of the stink of smoke in each breath and the clatter of her companions' armor as they ran down the block to the house where Morrigan claimed an eluvian awaited them.

When she opened her eyes after drifting off for a few moments and saw the darkened interior of a rich, but relatively small Orlesian home, Ellana felt cool relief sweep through her and sighed. But then she felt Iron Bull stop suddenly, his body tensing. He sniffed loudly several times and then asked, "I thought you said this place was empty?"

Up ahead Morrigan twisted around, her eyes glinting in the dull orange light streaming in through the nearest window from fires burning outside. "`Tis empty, yes. The noblemen and his family are in Val Royeaux at this time of year."

"Then why do I smell someone who isn't _us?"_ he asked, lowering his voice until it was little more than a deep rumble. He sniffed again, inhaling long and deep. "Elf. Male."

Morrigan arched a brow and then cursed under her breath. Whipping around on her heel, stalking further down the corridor. Her feet were nearly silent over the lush blue carpet underfoot. Her hands were up above her waist, ready to cast. Arina and Zaron flanked her, one held daggers at the ready while the other moved with a stance like Morrigan's, ready to unleash magic. Rainier pressed forward around Iron Bull, armor clanking slightly, his sword and shield at the ready.

"Oh, what a pleasant and so unexpected surprise," Dorian grumbled beside Iron Bull. " _Of course_ we're not alone."

"And Lana exploded most of my arrows," Sera lamented, feeling over her shoulder with one hand to check on the number of arrows in her quiver.

"Ir abelas," Ellana apologized groggily.

"Ugh," Sera grumbled, snarling at the elven language. "Enough of that piss, yeah? You loving elfy-elf droopy ears even though he's some sorta demon is what got us in this mess."

Dorian hissed at her. "Another vitriolic outburst from you like that blaming Ellana and I swear by the Maker and all that is holy I will make you wet yourself with one of my Horror spells. Am I _quite_ clear?"

Sera cocked her head to one side, frowning. "Viddy-o-lick?" She giggled, wrinkling her nose. "You're funny, Door. Making up words, yeah. Videolick."

Iron Bull grunted. "C'mon you two." He shifted Ellana in his arms, jostling her into groaning, struggling to open her eyes and lift her head as the warrior started forward after Morrigan, Rainier, and the sentinels.

They passed down the hallway and several rooms—a study, a bedroom, and a storage space. There was no sign of the house being occupied and no one rushed out to attack them. Eventually Morrigan entered an enormous bedroom decorated in gold and blue, with a huge four-post bed and dressers lining the walls. Ellana watched bleary-eyed as Morrigan stopped in front of the closed walk-in closet. In the darkness of the room with only the faint glare of the fires burning outside, the witch's expression was unclear.

Finally she thrust her arms out, motioning at the closet doors without touching them. Ellana felt the breeze waft at her and the tickle of magic over her skin. The Anchor burned a little more in response. _Great,_ she thought. Now it reacted to Morrigan's magic too.

The closet doors opened with a clatter and Morrigan froze, staring into it. Green light spilled out into the bedroom from the closet, illuminating the unreadable, tense expression over her features. Then, slowly, she smiled humorlessly. "Abelas. How good to see you again."

* * *

 

**Elven Used**

_Fen'Harel sul'ema mien'harel:_ the Dread Wolf brings the rebellion

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Drawing in a breath, Abelas squared his shoulders, staring down Morrigan with narrowed eyes. "Tell Ellana the truth. You cannot deceive her any longer."

Morrigan edged closer, her face a mask of rage. "Traitor," she spat. "You would let her suffer and die over trivial details that—"

"She should be the one to judge whether they are trivial concerns," Abelas interrupted her, cold and somber. "This trap is beneath you, Mythal."


	39. Stabilizing the Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan/Mythal's ulterior motives are revealed. With a little help, Ellana stabilizes the Anchor.

"Abelas?" Ellana asked, blinking.

"Abelas?" Arina asked, the name gruff on her lips. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Ellana heard the slow thump of Abelas' tread as he stepped out of the closet, the orb of veilfire floating over his head moving with him. He glanced around the room until his eyes settled on Ellana and his lips twisted in a frown. "I see you brought her. How overjoyed you must be to have lured her here."

"Fenedhis," Morrigan snarled. The elven curse was startling coming out of a human's mouth and the dangerous anger she heard in it immediately sent Ellana's heart racing, banishing all traces of her fatigue.

"What's going on here?" Dorian asked, moving to stand protectively in front of Iron Bull and Ellana.

"Whatever it is, let's make it quick," Sera said, nocking an arrow and drawing her bowstring back as she aimed at Abelas. "Where d'you want it?"

Abelas glared at Sera a moment before tucking his hands behind his back in a posture that reminded Ellana of Solas, instantly tightening something in her chest with pain. The sentinel raised his chin and turned his head, looking over Morrigan and the Elvhen with her who served him—or had. "What has she told you of my decision to leave?" he asked.

"Harellan," Arina snarled. "There is nothing else we need to know."

"Your bare face speaks for itself," Zaron added. "We lost Darae outside. You might've saved her—but you were not there." He spat on the ground, lips curling with derision.

So Darae had died of her wounds. Ellana sighed at the loss, her left hand opening and closing, reminding her of how little time she had left. "Please—there's no need for us to fight amongst ourselves. And there's no time for it."

"She's right," Dorian said. "So, if you'd just step aside, Abelan—"

"Abelas," the sentinel corrected him without even glancing at him. "And this will only take a moment. You will not regret it." Drawing in a breath, Abelas squared his shoulders, staring down Morrigan with narrowed eyes. "Tell Ellana the truth. You cannot deceive her any longer."

Morrigan edged closer, her face a mask of rage. "Traitor," she spat. "You would let her suffer and die over trivial details that—"

"She should be the one to judge whether they are trivial concerns," Abelas interrupted her, cold and somber. "This trap is beneath you, Mythal."

Morrigan reeled back as if he'd slapped her, bumping into Zaron and Arina, who both scrambled to catch her. Seeing their reactions, Ellana squirmed in Iron Bull's arms and called out, "Abelas, what trap? What does she plan?"

Abelas pivoted slightly to meet her stare. "The outstretched hand of help, of the offer one cannot refuse. But there is always the idle hand that takes payment and exacts punishment." He glared down his nose as he switched his attention again to Morrigan-Mythal. "I am willing to overlook many wrongs in the service of the People—of _you_ , Mythal—but you go too far now. Tell her the full truth of it or I shall."

"What full truth is that?" Morrigan demanded, snarling. "That the Anchor will kill her? That Mythal wishes to claim it to oppose Fen'Harel holding absolute power?" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Or perhaps that you are a liar and traitor, a barefaced deceiver who would say anything to turn her back to Fen'Harel?"

Abelas' stoic expression warped, features drawing with disgust in the orangey light through the nearby bedroom windows. "I have no love for Fen'Harel, save that _he_ would not deceive one this way."

Ellana was about to interrupt them, to shout at them in the vain hope one of them would start making sense—but Dorian beat her to it. "Out with it already, Morrigan. We all guessed you were about as trustworthy as a Carta smuggler, but this is getting ridiculous. We don't have time for this dithering."

"Can she stabilize my mark or not?" Ellana asked Abelas, pointedly. The Anchor had begun to gleam again, the slow burn rising.

"She can," Abelas told her, gruffly. "But she demands a hidden price that—"

Morrigan interrupted him with a hissing sound, reminiscent of a cat and motioned with both hands, the palms glowing light blue with magic. Arina and Zaron lunged ahead jerkily, in a way that reminded Ellana of the shambling corpses she'd seen at Crestwood and the Fallow Mire—as if the two sentinels were puppets whose strings had been pulled to animate them. They wore expressions of both pain and surprise, eyes wide while their lips formed ugly grimaces.

Arina darted for Abelas, slashing with both daggers, but he tossed up a barrier, deflecting the blows. Zaron cast dispel, sending a low-pitched hum resonating through the air. Abelas' barrier shimmered, weakening, but he seemed to shrug it off, strengthening the protective blue bubble around himself with a flourish of both hands. Morrigan shouted at him as she hurled ice chunks at him, but they shattered against his barrier.

"Kaffas," Dorian cursed, tossing up barriers over their own group and pushing against Iron Bull and Rainier, who were closest to him.

"Frigging elfy-elves," Sera snarled from behind Rainier. "Torch `em, Door. Stab `em, Beardy!"

Ellana struggled in Iron Bull's hold until he released her legs, letting her stand upright. "All of you," she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Stop this!"

With a crackle of storm magic, Dorian cast static cages in a burst of purple flickering light, enveloping Arina, Zaron, and Morrigan in the spell's paralyzing grip. The witch and her sentinels twitched inside the cage, held motionless as the purple lightning bubble over them flashed. "Ha!" Dorian guffawed. "Much better."

"Abelas," Ellana called to him, cradling her now glowing left hand in her unmarked right palm gingerly. "Please, just tell me." Dread was like ice in her stomach, hard and bitingly cold. It swelled outward, tightening her chest and throat as she stared at the sentinel—or was it _former_ sentinel now?

Abelas dipped his chin to her in acknowledgement. "Mythal intends to place you under her compulsion when she stabilizes the Anchor. In doing so, she will be able to coerce you into agreeing to allow her to use your child—or yourself—as a vessel."

"Fenedhis," she cursed, the cold inside her flashing over to fire, making her shake as she glared with as much venom as she could muster at Morrigan. "I knew I couldn't trust you but this…" She snarled, shaking her head. "Is what he says true?"

The static cage dissipated, flickering as it went out with a crackle. Morrigan slumped as it released its hold. Arina, perched precariously in mid-lunge when the spell had gripped her, now toppled over with a thump. Zaron was luckier as he merely settled into a battle ready stance, a frown that was both baffled and angry contorting his features. For a few heartbeats there was nothing but silence as the assembled groups glowered between one another.

Then, abruptly, Morrigan's jaw clenched and she shook her head violently, groaning in a voice that sounded strained as if with pain. Gripping her head at the temples, she ground out, "`Tis true, Lady Lavellan." Her teeth flashed as she winced. "Mythal intended to write a compulsion into your spirit. None would know of it. You would not be aware of it, but you would find Mythal…" She broke off, groaning again, still holding her head. "… _my_ advice impossible to refute."

"Why would you want my baby?" Ellana demanded, wrapping her right arm protectively over her belly.

Still wearing a tight grimace, Morrigan released her grip on her head. Her hands shook as she lowered them to her side. "Mythal and I are not the most harmonious union."

"Really?" Dorian quipped sarcastically. "I'd never have suspected."

"No harm would've come to your child," Morrigan insisted, a note of pleading entering her words. "No harm _will_ come to your child should you choose to—"

"Never," Ellana snarled, recoiling as if Morrigan had moved to attack her. She bumped into Rainier who laid a gentle, reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Morrigan huffed, jaw clenching. "Then it seems we are at an impasse, are we not?" She motioned to Ellana. "You require services only Mythal can grant you, but are unwilling to—"

"You'd let her die?" Dorian asked, snarling with sudden vehemence.

Morrigan shook her head, brow furrowed as she bit her lips, as struggling with her own words. " _I_ would not…"

Iron Bull let out a grunting growl of displeasure. "She's bluffing. The goddess thing in her, I mean. Damn demon possessing crap."

"Indeed," Abelas spoke up again, sniffing as he elevated his chin slightly, staring down the length of his nose at Morrigan. "I do not believe Mythal foolish enough to refuse you. Doing so would destroy any chance of reclaiming the Anchor. In addition, Fen'Harel would stop at nothing to have his vengeance once he learned of it. And, of course, without the Anchor or any living reason to preserve this world, the Dread Wolf will tear down the Veil and all but destroy everything to complete his original plan."

Morrigan glared at him, her shoulders heaving with each breath though she stayed silent. The remaining sentinels behind her were impassive and inscrutable, though Ellana caught the way their gazes darted from Abelas to Morrigan and then back to her and her companions. Ellana's left hand made a faint hissing sound, burning and tingling as it gradually gained strength.

Gritting her teeth, she edged forward a step. "You've been outplayed, Morrigan—or Mythal, or whoever you are now."

"I am both," Morrigan replied blankly. Her expression eased somewhat as she sighed and added, "Unfortunately." Squaring her shoulders, she pivoted to face Ellana directly. "I will help you, but I do ask that you allow your child to consider consenting to become Mythal's vessel someday." She paused, smirking slightly. "If it is a girl, of course."

Even as she frowned, heart pounding and stomach still tight with dread at how close she'd come to unwittingly losing her free will to Mythal, Ellana forced herself to nod. "If my baby wanted to willingly become Mythal's vessel—why would I try to stop it?"

"Then `tis agreed," Morrigan said, her closed-lipped smirk widening.

"So you only want the kid if it's a girl?" Iron Bull asked. At Morrigan's sidelong glance at him, neither confirming nor denying his comment, Iron Bull elbowed Ellana, bumping against her shoulder because of his height. "See? You were never in danger. Kid's gonna be a boy."

"Yeah," Rainier muttered behind Ellana. "Nothing to worry about—except losing her free will, of course."

Dorian snorted. "Yes, but when has the old girl ever used that pesky thing?"

Scowling, Ellana shifted her weight from one leg to the other, trying to ignore the ache in her lower back as she considered the danger ahead. Could she actually trust Abelas and Morrigan not to put her under some kind of compulsion even after revealing it? Or was this just a ploy to trick her? Was Abelas truly on her side?

Looking to him, Ellana asked, "Will you know if she's trying to put a compulsion on me?"

He nodded. "Any mage familiar with the magic in question will recognize it."

"What magic is it?" Dorian asked immediately, stepping forward and bristling with distrust as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Spirit-based," Abelas answered. "But with an element of blood magic." He eyed Morrigan as she glared at him, his manner bordering on amusement now. "How did you plan to do it, hahren?" he asked her, arching an eyebrow. "Cut yourself during the ritual and hope her companions never noticed?"

Morrigan scoffed, gesturing jerkily past Abelas and toward the closet. "We have no time for idle questions." She looked to Ellana, haughty as she tossed her head, trying to knock her black hair from her face. "You have only two options, Lady Lavellan. You take my offer, such as it is currently—and without any compulsion as we agreed—or you return to Fen'Harel and let him take your arm."

Breathing deep to steady herself, Ellana clenched her left hand, trying to ignore the mounting pain in her palm. "It's not as though I have much of a choice."

"Then let us get on with it," Morrigan said and, with a firm and authoritative stride, marched past Abelas and into the closet. The sentinels trailed after her, obedient but with detached, aloof looks that Ellana thought thinly masked their confusion. Abelas glanced to her once and then also turned to follow after Morrigan.

With a long breath out, Ellana started to take a step forward when she felt the large, warm weight of Iron Bull's hand on her shoulder. "You really going to do this, Boss?"

Casting him a melancholy smile over her shoulder, she shrugged as she raised her left hand for him to see the glow. "If this is the only way I can save my hand—my arm." She frowned, her voice catching before she could quite swallow down the lump in her throat. "I write with the marked hand, you know."

"You have _the_ shoddiest luck, Lana," Sera observed with a tight giggle.

Despite the grimness tightening her chest, Ellana chuckled. "Truer words have never been spoken." Stepping forward, still clutching her left hand in her right one, she saw into the walk-in closet. Luxurious dresses, silken pantaloons, pants, breeches, and vests hung along the walls. Atop the shelves were hat boxes and masks had been mounted at the edges of the eluvian, as if for easy reach. The noble who owned this home had apparently fancied the eluvian as an actual mirror. Now it gleamed cerulean blue as the centerpiece of the enormous, opulent closet.

Abelas lingered outside the mirror, twisted at the waist to watch her. "She has overwritten it to take us directly to the Fade," he told her in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Do not be alarmed when you step through."

"How could I be alarmed when I've spent more time physically there than anyone has since Solas put up the Veil?" she asked, meaning to tease though her tone was a little too strained. "Walking in the Fade is almost routine now."

Abelas' lips curled in a small smile. "So it is." He nodded. "I will see you on the other side, lethallan." Turning, he passed through the mirror with a stately grace that made Ellana's stomach ripple with envy.

_Oh,_ _to be lean and dexterous again,_ she thought longingly as she waddled her way through the mirror.

* * *

"We'd just reached the ground level when a band of Templars ambushed us out of nowhere," Var explained hurriedly, eyes wide and lips trembling with his nervousness. Though he could no longer cast as his connection to the Fade had been sundered enough to cut off magic, the Elvhen man remained sensitive to it like most of the People. He likely sensed the looming threat of Solas' magic, like the shadow of a dragon flying overhead that could swoop down at any moment and swallow him whole.

"When they cut down the first of our escort, Divine Victoria took advantage of the chaos. I don't know exactly what she did, but it had to have been her—she lit two of the Dalish mages on fire somehow. One second they were fine, the next they were screaming and their skin started smoking and the stench…" Var grimaced, shaking his head at the memory. "We broke and ran for reinforcements. We aimed to recapture her, but by the time we reached her in the stables she'd joined up with the Inquisition leaders. They already had the horses bridled and—"

"Was Ellana there?" Solas interrupted, unable to hold himself back any longer.

Var blinked, his brows arching and then forming a tight line over his nose. "No. Why would Lady Lavellan be involved?"

Biting back the curse on his tongue, Solas ignored Var's question. "Join Mathrel inside," he ordered the rogue, motioning at the palace. He'd found Var in the courtyard, tending to elves wounded in the skirmish with the Templars and Inquisition. "We must ensure the palace does not burn."

"Yes," Var said, but the look he shot Solas was full of concern and he hesitated. "Is Lady Lavellan well?"

"She is missing," Solas hedged, restraining his frown at how strained the words sounded.

Var nodded somberly. "I will alert my men to keep a lookout for any sign of her."

"Thank you," Solas told him and then, brusquely, turned and Fade-stepped across the courtyard, heading for the gate.

Behind him, Var called out, "What are we to do about the Divine and the Inquisition?"

He paused, glancing quickly over his shoulder to answer, "I will attend to it."

_She knew I would seek her at the eluvians and in the palace,_ Solas thought as he began jogging forward on the path toward the stables. So she'd done the opposite of what he'd expected—which shouldn't have surprised him at all. She was always reckless, throwing herself into danger despite how vital she was to everyone and everything. As the Herald and as Inquisitor she'd walked into the trap at Redcliffe, faced off with Corypheus at Haven and then again in the valley of the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the final fight. After she'd left the Inquisition to join him in fighting for the People she'd been determined to help him defeat the Forgotten Ones, despite his protests, and she'd nearly died enacting Mythal's plan to retake the Dales. Everywhere she went, trouble found its way to her and Ellana thrust herself headfirst into it. Mahanon had told Solas that Ellana was headstrong and stubborn, to the point of foolishness, but he hadn't needed her brother to tell him that. He'd known her more than long enough to have seen it for himself.

He found the stables in disarray, stalls had been broken into and horses set loose to now mill around the space, nibbling at hay in the troughs. There was a gate that Cassandra and the others must've unlatched to lead their mounts outside, but it'd swung shut and latched since then, leaving the animals trapped. Their eyes rolled with alarm and their ears twitched as the smell of smoke from the palace and burning outbuildings rolled in through the windows and the doors. Instinct would propel them to run, but they had nowhere to go and couldn't yet see fire. It'd be only a matter of time before the wind would bring burning embers to the stable's roof and set it aflame.

Finding the hart Solas had ridden into the winter palace on, he quickly retrieved a bridle for the beast. He calmed it by stroking its cheek and neck, then slid the bridle onto it and worked the reins around its neck—a task made more difficult by the hart's enormous antlers. Solas didn't bother with a saddle, he could already barely stand the time it took to put the bridle on. There was an impatient, anxious beat inside him that made his heart cold with fear at the certainty that every second counted. Ellana was in danger wherever she was, of that he had no doubt.

He led the hart through the other horses, moving slowly and with caution to avoid spooking any of them, and opened the gate. After leading the hart through, he took the time to secure the gate in the open position, freezing it with a quick spell, to let the other animals escape. Swinging himself onto the beast's back, Solas spurred it ahead with a click of his tongue and a nudge from his heels. With one of its usual high-pitched calls, the hart charged forward through the courtyard and out through the palace gates.

* * *

The cool magic of the eluvian washed over Ellana, but as she stepped out into the diffuse yellowish light of the Fade, it seemed to settle into her left hand and turned blazingly hot. She stumbled forward, feeling the invisible tug in her palm, the magic of the Anchor crackling and glowing as it spread up her forearm to her elbow. Abelas caught her by the shoulders and then gripped her left palm along the Anchor's seam and squeezed with thumb and forefinger.

Pain sizzled through her as he drew some of the magic out. Ellana whimpered, her knees going weak and her skin flushing hot and then cold as she started sweating uncontrollably. The Anchor flared and made its popping-crackle as energy from it dissipated into the Fade around them, becoming the green mist of ether. When Abelas released her palm Ellana was left trembling and panting from the pain, but it'd eased enough to be manageable again.

"Ellana," Dorian called from behind her, splashing through the oily puddles in front of the eluvian to be at her side. He shouldered Abelas away with a glare, taking the sentinel's place. "Are you all right, love? Did he hurt you?"

"No," she murmured, still struggling to catch her breath. Her lungs felt cramped, squished by both emotion and baby.

"I merely performed a slight discharge of its accumulated magic," Abelas told Dorian blankly. "To counteract the effects of passing through the eluvian."

"I see," Dorian said, still distrustful as he checked over Ellana's hand for himself.

"I'm fine, Dorian," Ellana insisted, finding the strength to steady her knees and step away. She'd sunk into the tawny mud underfoot and had to struggle a bit to free herself, trudging around Dorian and Abelas to see Morrigan and the other sentinels flanking her as they waited together a few meters away. Iron Bull, Rainier, and Sera stepped through behind her, making the mirror thrum with magic. Ellana flexed her hand, feeling each person's passage through the mirror as a pulse in her left palm.

They'd entered a small clearing surrounded by green-gray Fade stone, wreathed in ether. There was no sign of demons, but Ellana could see a faint, transparent wisp lingering on the other side of the clearing. Beside the eluvian there were a few masks and dresses, hanging suspended in the air as if from invisible hooks. The Fade here was mirroring the walk-in closet in the waking world through the mirror. Too bad it hadn't recreated the lush carpeting and flatter terrain.

Iron Bull grunted with revulsion. "I hate this place."

"Can we go back?" Sera asked, shuffling her feet and skirting the oily puddles. Jerking awkwardly, she tried to walk without letting any of the green Fade ether brush against her only to yelp when she realized it was on her opposite side as well. "Shite. Damn. Sod it all."

Rainier let out a longsuffering sigh but otherwise made no complaint as he took the lead, stopping to stand beside Dorian. They followed Ellana as she made her way forward, walking just a step behind Abelas as he took a position standing near Mythal but far enough away that he was separated from the sentinels flanking her—a visual representation that he was no longer with them. Mythal and Abelas formed a semi half-circle, and Ellana couldn't help but think of herself as a caged bird.

"Let us begin," Morrigan said, her voice heavy and somber. Motioning at Ellana, she said, "Step closer to me. Take my hands."

Swallowing the anxious burning in her throat—as much emotion as heartburn—Ellana obeyed. Morrigan's hands were warm, slightly slimy with perspiration. Her grip was firm and Ellana felt magic tingling though she saw no glow from the witch's hands. The Anchor throbbed with heat.

Staring into her eyes, Morrigan said, "I will cast a sleep spell, now. You will feel yourself go under, but `tis nothing to fear. Your companions can hold you upright, if you wish."

"Is it possible to sleep _here?"_ Rainier asked, frowning. "Is it possible to _dream?"_

Morrigan didn't take her eyes from Ellana as she ignored the questions. Her lips moved, constructing the spell, and Rainier and Dorian both stepped forward to grasp her by the shoulders. Ellana tensed, heart pounding and body bathed in sweat, fearful thoughts flitting through her mind as she worried this might not succeed, or that Abelas and Mythal would still betray her somehow…

And then, as she saw the slight glow of Morrigan's hands, her head felt heavy and a wave of dizziness cascaded over her. Her eyelids fluttered and she let out several long, uneven breaths as her body struggled to find balance between the anxiety that kept her heart racing and the unnatural demands of the sleep spell for calm. The magic won and suddenly she was weightless and falling, her mind empty and tranquil.

After a few moments she found herself standing beside Abelas, staring at the scene outside of her body. Her companions all turned their heads, noticing her with varied expressions of dismay. Dull confusion laced through Ellana, frowning as she tried to remember what had been happening, why she was somehow seeing herself held up by Dorian and Rainier while Morrigan held her limp hands. She frowned and tried to speak, "What's going on?"

Sera yelped and thrust a finger at where Ellana stood beside Abelas. "What's that?"

"Ellana's dream self, you simpleton," Dorian grumbled.

As Ellana gawped, speechless and still confused, Morrigan released the limp, lifeless Ellana's hands and walked toward her. "Remain calm," she crooned as she extended one blue-glowing hand toward her. "You are in the dreaming. This will only take a moment."

Ellana shook her head, backpedaling a step from Morrigan. Gazing down at her own body, she let out a little cry of alarm and felt along her flat navel, seeing no sign of her sizeable belly. Vaguely, she recalled the dream she'd shared with Mahanon, when she'd been able to reshape her appearance. Her lurching heart eased for the moment—until Morrigan's hand gripped her left wrist.

The witch's touch was scalding, like living tongues of flame. She cried out, trying to flee, but she felt herself bump into an invisible barrier. Blinking and staring as she continued to struggle, she saw glimmering green walls of iridescent ether had encircled her, thickening until she could barely see her companions through it. Though she flailed, kicking and jerking on her hand, she couldn't free herself from Morrigan's clutches and couldn't escape the confines of the ether-bubble.

"Let go," she shouted, only to realize her voice sounded muffled and faint, as if she'd mumbled them against her pillow at night. Still, with a snarl, she tried again. "You're hurting me!"

"Relax," Morrigan called to her. "You will not be harmed."

"Maker's balls," Rainier yelled. "What are you doing to her?"

"Her spirit interprets this as an attack," Abelas explained, calm and deadpan. "But she is safe."

"How can the witch even hold onto her?" Iron Bull stammered.

"Magic," Dorian put in, sounding irritable. "Obviously."

The burning pain continued, arcing through Ellana's left hand and forearm. Green light glowed, brilliant and blinding, growing until it was white and pure, glimmering. With her eyes stinging from both the pain and the brightness, Ellana whimpered, going motionless as she gave in to helplessness.

Morrigan's hand on her wrist twisted then, giving a slight jerk. The pain eased into a sharp stinging, tugging on the bones in her hand and forearm. As the light faded slightly, Ellana found she could see again. Blinking, she found herself staring at a small oval shape hovering in the air beside her left hand. Tendrils of green energy coiled outward from it, chaotic and flicking like lightning to her forearm.

_The Anchor._

Morrigan's fingers tapped against her skin, no longer painfully burning, just prickling and stinging with intense magic. The small ministrations of her fingers on Ellana's skin seemed to carry over to the Anchor where it glowed alongside her hand. The green lightning licking up Ellana's forearm flashed, changing. Rather than the randomized chaos she'd grown accustomed to seeing it began to pulsate and form straight lines.

Ellana felt the magic crawling up her arm, inside her bones. The pain made her grind her teeth, but it dissipated as the seconds passed. She saw a green glow under her own skin, illuminating the shape of her arm bones. It stopped at her elbow. The glow rose and fell in time with her heartbeat.

"As was typical of Fen'Harel, the Anchor was never a physical tool," Morrigan said, her voice tinny and distant in Ellana's ears. "`Tis bound to your spirit. As such, removing it was virtually impossible without first untangling it from your spirit." She paused a second and then added in a sharper tone, "I cannot stop the pain that will come from using it or from exposure to magic, but I can stabilize it, at least for a time. It would be best in the long term if you were to yield it to myself. Let me take the Anchor. Please."

As attractive as the idea of no longer feeling the burning, aching pain in her hand and arm was, Ellana clenched her jaw and steeled herself against the possibility. "No. Not yet."

Morrigan's sigh vibrated through her and into Ellana's arm, sending pins and needles into her bones via the Anchor. "Very well."

The witch's hand tightened on Ellana's wrist and the burning pain inside her bones intensified until a strained scream forced its way past her lips. Yet, again, Ellana realized the sound was faint and distorted, warped and limited by her current spirit-self. The light grew blinding again, filling every sense until there was nothing but the whiteout and the pain in her arm.

Then, suddenly, Morrigan released her. Ellana slumped, gasping, the Fade spinning all around her as the ache in her hand and arm dissipated to a tolerable level again. The light receded into darkness and her heart lurched in her chest, worried she'd gone blind until she became aware of hands under her shoulders, holding her up. She was awake, then, and back in her body. Opening her eyes and gasping, she struggled to get her feet underneath her, but her knees shook.

"Whoa, take it easy there," Rainier cautioned, speaking into her right ear.

Dorian, on her left, grunted as he braced her body against his own with one hip. "Can you stand?"

"I think so," she said as she willed her legs to stop wobbling. Breathing hard and as deep as she could with the baby compressing everything inside her, Ellana gradually stood on her own. Morrigan had backed away from her several paces, but Abelas had moved closer, as if ready to stabilize her in the same way as both Dorian and Rainier. Behind the witch, Arina and Zaron eyed Ellana with curious expressions.

"I have stabilized the Anchor," Morrigan said. "It will remain painful, but `tis no longer a danger to your life."

"Thank you," Ellana murmured, shuddering with relief as she gazed at her left palm and saw the greenish light of the seam glittering slightly.

"You still you, yeah?" Sera asked, tight with tension.

"Yeah," Ellana answered, groggy and thick. "As far as I can tell."

"Great," Iron Bull said. "Then we can get the fuck out of here."

"Yeah," Sera added, her brows beetling over her nose. "Before Corify-butts or something like him shows up. `Cuz you know something will. Always does."

"But where will we go?" Rainier asked, gingerly releasing his hold on Ellana and watching warily as she held her own weight.

"You all will go wherever you like," Morrigan interjected, her voice ringing with authority. She motioned at the eluvian, her hand wafting through Fade ether. "I can manipulate the eluvian to send you to a variety of spots through Thedas." Pausing then, her lips pinched into a hard line. "But you will not be accompanying Ellana and I."

Now Ellana glared at the witch. "You think I'm going anywhere with you after I learned that you were going to put me under some kind of blood magic compulsion and try to make my baby your latest vessel?" She let out a brittle, angry laugh at Morrigan's unhappy frown. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"`Tis true I was…" She fidgeted with her hands, tugging at the silken edges of her sleeves. "…less than honest, earlier. But you must see reason, Lady Lavellan. We must band together to—"

"I'm done being used by both of you," Ellana snapped, hands clenching into fists. "I've had enough of war, of worrying, of not trusting those around me." Sucking in a breath and finding it thick with Fade ether, she tried to calm the emotions rolling in her stomach. "I'm tired of being lied to." Shoulders sagging, she envisioned Solas' face in her mind and something ached in her chest, both longing and loss.

"Well," Dorian said, frowning. "There's precisely zero chance of you escaping that by returning to that wolf-god lover of yours."

Ellana glared at him. "You're not helping, Dorian."

He winced. "Sorry. I couldn't resist."

Abelas cleared his throat then, drawing their attention. "If I may be permitted to accompany you, lethallan, I will be able to override the eluvian and you will have no need to allow Mythal to know where you will go." He nodded with respect to Morrigan, though his eyes narrowed. "And you would be able to leave to any location you would like without any of us knowing where you'd gone as well."

Morrigan shook her head in disapproval, lips drawing back in a small snarl. "This is foolish. Lady Lavellan, your time is near. You cannot be unprotected and outside of the restored Fade when your child comes. You will be weak and vulnerable."

"You think I don't know that?" Ellana spat, shaking with quiet fury. She dismissed Morrigan's comment about being within the Fade to give birth. Countless mothers had given birth in the sundered world and although some of them did die—and Ellana _could_ be one of them—most survived to raise their babies.

Scoffing derisively, Morrigan gestured at her companions. "You truly want to find yourself away from your people, your family, when your time comes? You'd be more comfortable with this lot who know nothing of motherhood?"

Head spinning, Ellana closed her eyes and scrubbed at her face, finding it slimy with sweat. In truth she knew she wanted to be with her mother, with her Keeper, and with her sister-in-law when it came time for her to bring her child into this world. But her clan wouldn't be able to keep her presence with them a secret from Solas.

_Solas…_ If only _he_ could be there with her, instead of Fen'Harel.

"You should be in the Emerald Graves," Morrigan pressed. "With the People. Safe."

"Yes," Ellana snarled bitterly. "Right where both you and _Fen'Harel_ can find me and use me—or just lie to me and see if I believe it. Again."

"Think what you will of me," Morrigan grumbled with a deep frown. "But what I say now is out of concern for you and your child, not the Anchor."

"Ah, yes," Dorian interjected with a feigned, sugary smile. "I'll believe that the same day I believe Darkspawn are just looking for hugs."

Morrigan shot him a brief glower and then focused again on Ellana with greater intensity. "Please, even returning to Fen'Harel would be better than striking out on your own."

"I've heard enough, Morrigan," Ellana said, shaking her head sharply and thrusting one finger in the direction of the eluvian. "Leave. I'm not going with you and I'm not returning to Fen'Harel."

"Not now and not ever," Dorian added with a gesture as flourish.

Ellana frowned at him. "Don't put words in my mouth."

Dorian laid a hand on his chest with a mock-scandalized look on his face. "What? Me? No, never! I simply added what you _forgot_ to say, that's all, darling."

"I will leave," Morrigan said, somber and serious as she narrowed her golden eyes at Ellana. "But do know that should you need me, you will be able to find me in the Fade. You have only to dream." Her expression softened, eyebrows and lips curling downward at the edges of her face. "I wish you and your child well, Lady Lavellan."

With a motion of one hand over her shoulder, Morrigan led the sentinels to the eluvian and raised one hand to it, sending a burst of blue energy into it. The glass shimmered, changing color slightly and rippling like water disturbed by a stone thrown into its depths. Ellana watched the witch and her sentinels step through, then the mirror went dark.

"Shite," Sera shouted, immediately panicking at the darkened mirror. Scrambling toward it through the muck and puddles, heedless of the ether in her panic, Sera slapped a palm on the mirror and then recoiled. "Ugh! Work, thing! Andraste's ass, what's a matter with it?"

"Back away, Sera," Dorian shouted to her. "And Maker's breath, don't break it." He jerked a thumb at his own chest and then, with a frown of distrust, at Abelas. "Let the mages handle it." Sniffing as he crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Ellana and Abelas, Dorian asked, "So where _are_ we going? Might I suggest Tevint—"

"C'mon, Dorian, you know better than to seriously suggest that," Iron Bull growled.

Dorian huffed, rolling his eyes flamboyantly. "Oh, all right. Fine. My homeland _is_ a terrible place for elves. But I can't stay away from it forever. My enemies in the Magisterium will be getting complacent without me. Can't have that, you know. And, of course, they'll simply be lost without my example to follow in regards to fashion."

Rainier groaned. "Do you ever tire of hearing yourself talk, Dorian?"

"Of course not," Dorian said with a scoff. Sobering slightly, he fixed Ellana in his brown eyed gaze as he finished teasing his mustache between his thumb and forefinger. "But in all seriousness, Ellana, you do need to make some kind of decision here. I promise I will stay with you until I know you're safe…" He went silent, frowning with a sad look in his eyes. "But I cannot stay with you indefinitely unless we go to Tevinter. I _am_ needed there. Without my balancing influence, I expect the Magisterium will soon devolve into blood magic and ritual sacrifice."

"You mean more than usual," Rainier quipped, arching one furry eyebrow.

Dorian rolled his eyes again. "Yes, yes, very funny. Also somewhat true, sadly." He waved a hand dismissively in the figurative direction of Tevinter. "You know how my countrymen are."

After smirking at Dorian's humor, and admiring the way his eyes glinted at her—no doubt pleased that he'd managed to lighten her mood, if only for a moment—Ellana sighed. "To be honest," she said, struggling to speak around the lump still in her throat. "Morrigan's right. I'd like to be with my clan. But they'd never be able to keep it from Solas, and I…"

She broke off, choking on the words and staring down at the tawny sand and oily puddles of the Fade. Sucking in several wet breaths and fighting the shaking that came over her as she imagined the turmoil her decision would cause her clan, Ellana said, "I'd be putting them in a terrible position. They'd never be able to keep it quiet. Running away is the only way I can disrupt Solas' plans, but…"

"Perhaps it would be best if you did return to him," Rainier said, gruff but quiet with sympathy.

Dorian elbowed the other man and then grimaced with pain, rubbing the afflicted extremity. "Ouch! That's some impressive armor you have there, Thom."

"It's called _armor_ for a reason," Rainier grumbled before speaking to Ellana again, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I don't approve of what Solas has done, but I know that you care for him and I know from first-hand experience you have incredible capacity to forgive."

"Yes," Dorian said snappishly. "But even Ellana has to have a limit on that, especially when the villain we're currently discussing has a penchant for repeated offenses. Solas is as bad at changing his ways as a dragon is about not eating people and livestock. You either kill it or you run from it." He punched one fist into the palm of his other hand. "There's no living with it."

"There is no running from Fen'Harel either," Abelas interjected stiffly. "He will find you in the Fade." Staring at Ellana, he arched an eyebrow. "Are you familiar with herbs used to block one's access to the Fade in sleep?"

"Not really," Ellana answered with a sigh. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep forever, dreamless and quiet and unthinking. _You're just trying to escape your problems,_ the nagging voice in her head scolded, using her father's voice. The memory of him—and the knowledge that he was dead—hit her all over again and grief clutched at her heart and spilled over into the pain of Solas' betrayal. The tumultuous emotions churned inside her, spilling over into one another, confused and treacherous.

The Fade around them stirred as a little breeze pushed at the ether. A gurgling noise echoed from the green-gray Fade rocks. Iron Bull drew his great axe with a slick clink of metal. "What the fuck was that? Demons?"

"Most likely," Abelas said, deadpan and impassive, as if discussing the weather. "Strong emotion will draw them like moths to flame. We cannot linger here." He strode toward the eluvian, moving with ease through the muck, puddles, and sand underfoot.

Sera edged out of his way, gripping her bow with an arrow nocked and at the ready. "Hurry up and get us out of here, yeah? `Fore I piss myself. Not ashamed of it neither!"

Ellana groaned, aware suddenly of her own seemingly magical bladder, which could never stay comfortable or empty for long. "I second that, Sera, sadly."

"Right, yeah. Fucking demons," the archer complained, turning her head this way and that anxiously.

"But we still don't know where we're going," Rainier protested. "Or what we're doing."

"I do," Iron Bull said. "I need to go back to Halamshiral and check on my men." He still held his great axe out, clutched tightly in both fists and hefted in front of him. "Can you do that?" he asked Abelas.

"Certainly," Abelas replied and, with a pinched expression of concentration, he thrust one hand palm up to the mirror, his hand glowing blue. The eluvian shimmered like water again as it reactivated and Abelas stepped back from it, nodding to Iron Bull. "The mirror will take you to the same one we entered in the noble's house in Halamshiral, Qunari."

"Tal-Vashoth," Iron Bull corrected with a grunt. Turning as he stood silhouetted in front of the mirror, Iron Bull smiled affectionately at Ellana and then at Dorian. "It was good seeing everyone again—but my men need me. Best of luck dealing with Solas."

"Off with you, then," Dorian said with a dismissive motion of one hand, as if shooing away a maid. "I'll just see you again as soon as I hire you and the Chargers to take care of certain miscreants in the Magisterium." He smirked and rubbed a finger over his mustache with a playful gleam in his eye. "Our usual plans, I suspect."

"You got it," Iron Bull said and winked his only eye at Dorian.

"Thank you, Bull," Ellana said, smiling. "For everything. I hope we see each other again."

"Oh, Boss," he said, chuckling. "You know we will. I'd hug you, but I'm a little afraid I'd crush that belly of yours."

"I'm not as fragile as I look," she insisted, managing a broader smile now.

With a last look over their other companions, Iron Bull stepped through the mirror, making it thrum and glow slightly brighter for a moment. Immediately after the eluvian settled again Abelas thrust his hand to it, wearing the same intense expression.

After a few moments he stepped back and faced Ellana. "I am familiar with the herbs used to block dreams. I also have an idea how you may be able to rejoin your clan when it is your time without alerting Fen'Harel, if that remains your wish."

Ellana scowled, cocking her head. "How?"

Abelas smiled. "I would retrieve a select few of your clansmen and bring them to you."

Too tired to fully contemplate his suggestion now, Ellana merely nodded and stared past him, to the glowing mirror. "Where does it lead?"

"Ruins in the Arbor Wilds," he answered. "A day's trek north of the Temple of Mythal."

"And what if that witch has gone there?" Rainier asked.

"She would not," Abelas said. "It is too remote. Mythal has reemerged now for the People as a counter to Fen'Harel's power. She hoped to gain the Anchor from you and to perhaps gain your child as bargaining chips to keep her safe. I believe now she will revert to reminding the Dread Wolf that the Dalish bend to her will. To do that she will touch their minds in dreaming, and she must be close to the bulk of their forces to access them." He paused, a dry smile spreading over his lips. "She is not the powerful Dreamer she once was and cannot rival Fen'Harel in the Fade." The smile faded, warping into a frown. "At least not in her current vessel."

Grinding her teeth together at the reminder of what had _almost_ been, Ellana nodded. "Then let's get out of here."

"To the Arbor Wilds?" Dorian asked.

"Yes," Ellana confirmed and, before he could protest, walked into the mirror.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Solas never saw the arrow that shot out of the darkness down a nearby alley, striking the hart through its shoulder, just shy of his knee. The beast stumbled and fell with a shriek, throwing Solas from its back and to the rough cobblestone below. With no chance to brace himself, Solas tumbled, skidding and rolling. His head struck the stone, sending sharp pain through his skull, obliterating everything else.

Blackness took him.


	40. The Wolf and the Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas fights his way through the fiery streets of Halamshiral, determined to learn what has become of Ellana.

On the path just beyond the palace Solas saw the bodies of dead elves in servant's livery. The hart rode over the carnage too quickly for him to get a decent look, but Solas saw evidence of magic use as well as swords and arrows. The presence of magic meant the Divine's group, lacking mages, hadn't done this on their way out. Someone else had fought these elves as they fled the palace.

Further outside the palace, down the road and near a sharp bend, Solas felt his skin flush with warmth, tingling in a familiar and pleasant magic. He jerked abruptly on the hart's reins and it reared, letting out another piercing cry in its irritation at the sudden stop. From his mount, Solas surveyed the scene, eyes narrowed and heart pounding, but other than the lingering familiar magic of the Anchor there was no sign of what'd happened here, other than some scattered footprints. Yet, it was enough for Solas to realize Ellana _had_ come this way.

"Josa," Solas shouted in elven at the hart, flicking the reins. The animal tossed its head as he dug his heels into its flanks and took off, hooves beating the path beneath it, but too slow. Ellana could be dying this very instant. Solas' stomach rolled with horror, his mouth going dry. He pushed the hart to go even faster, clicking his tongue and leaning into the wind as it rushed past. The relatively treeless landscape ahead showed him the road was empty all the way to the city gates.

And Halamshiral was burning, afire and in chaos due to his rebellion. _Let her be alive,_ he prayed, though he didn't know to whom. What power was there that could answer, other than the whim of chance? And if there was some deity, a Maker as the humans called their sole and likely imaginary creator, surely He would delight in this torture, considering the state of the world. Solas could only ride on through the night, his heart pounding faster than the hart's hooves.

Just outside the city gates, Solas slowed the hart as he saw bodies in the road—and a dead horse. The villa off the road was burning in a wild conflagration, flames rising high into the sky as the fire devoured what had likely once been a lovely Orlesian home. Clutching the reins in white-knuckled hands, Solas scanned over the scattered bodies, seeing they were all elven. Arrows stuck out of several of them, and there were scorch marks from mage fire.

A helmet lay on the ground, glinting orange in the light from the fire raging in the villa, and Solas recognized it as being an Inquisition helm. Recalling the "Inquisition guard" accompanying Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen, Solas guessed Cassandra had lost it in the fight, but he doubted she had died here. Solas' eyes landed on round depressions in the dirt, leading off the path and into the brush, away from Halamshiral. There was no sign of anyone traveling away from the road on foot, and no indication they'd found more mounts here.

_They separated here,_ he thought. Three or more riders had left the road and headed north. Meanwhile, the walkers on foot had not gone with them. They must've gone into the city. But why? Where to?

Then, suddenly, Solas felt the warm, pleasurable tingling of the Anchor's magic on his peripheral senses. It was like a light at the edge of his vision, flashing as it lit up the night like a firework. He whipped around in the direction he sensed it, inadvertently tugging on the hart's reins and making the beast let out another of its shrieks with irritation. It pawed the ground, tossing its head.

A burst of the Anchor that strong had to be a blast, one of the attacks Solas would've used when overwhelmed by too many enemies in close range. Because it was magic and controlled by will alone, Solas could command it to harm and knock over only those hostile to him, making it a bit like a veilstrike or mindblast—but far more destructive. It shouldn't have been something Ellana could wield.

Unless the Anchor had finally chosen now to destabilize.

Shouting again at the hart, Solas urged it forward and through the city gates. The hart gave a screech of protest, head lowered at the scent and sight of the fires consuming the nearest buildings, but Solas pushed spirit magic at the animal, shaping it into a spell of courage. His heart was in his throat, his eyes stinging and running from more than just the ash and the acrid smoke thickening the air.

_Hold on, vhenan._

He never saw the arrow that shot out of the darkness down a nearby alley, striking the hart through its shoulder, just shy of Solas' knee. The beast stumbled and fell with a shriek, throwing Solas from its back and to the rough cobblestone below. With no chance to brace himself, Solas tumbled, skidding and rolling. His head struck the stone, sending sharp pain through his skull, obliterating everything else.

Blackness took him.

* * *

"Oh, how lovely," Dorian grumbled in a falsely sugary voice. "Another ruin in the middle of the forest and undoubtedly surrounded by hungry bears and wolves. How I so missed this part of life with you, darling!" Sweeping his hands in a broad gesture to encompass the crumbling stone pavilion they'd found upon stepping out of the mirror, he sighed. "At least there are no red Templars and Venatori here, I suppose."

The lush jungle around them was dark and quiet except for the sigh of the wind through the trees. The plants here showed no sign of winter with their full complement of leaves and foliage, but the air did hold a faint chill that suggested this place did see some change of the seasons. Yet, it was warm and humid enough that Ellana started unbuttoning her coat and fluffing it to increase airflow over herself.

Seeing her action, Abelas said, "I selected this place for its remoteness and my personal familiarity with it. Also, because I knew it would be mild at this time of year when many places in Thedas are still very cold."

"Very cold?" Rainier asked with a grunt. "I take it you're used to a climate like this one, Abelas, because Halamshiral and Orlais were quite comfortable."

Abelas ignored his comment, turning instead to deactivate the mirror with a wave of one blue-glowing hand.

"For _you,_ maybe," Dorian griped, picking up where Abelas had chosen to remain silent. "I agree with Abelas, except that this place isn't civilized or clean. It's hardly the place I'd want to give birth in if I were a woman."

"You _are_ a woman," Sera said with a snigger. "Or good as, anyway."

Dorian sniffed with derision. "Very funny, but patently untrue. I'm the very image of manliness. I shouldn't need to remind _you_ of all people that I—"

"Would you three knock it off?" Ellana said, frowning as she walked over the uneven, cracked stones of the pavilion. Abelas moved to take a position at her side, shadowing her as Solas would have once done. The thought made something in her chest ache.

"Sorry, milady," Rainier apologized at once. "Shall we try to make camp?"

"With what?" Dorian rejoined, voice sharp. "Stones for pillows? Leaves for bedrolls and blankets?"

Rainier shrugged, his armor glinting with the pale milky light of the moon. "I've had worse."

"Like what, exactly?" Dorian asked, his tone incredulous.

"This could be like the time I was caught in the desert. Starving and dying of thirst. Hot in the day and freezing our asses off at night." He grunted. "I'd take the Arbor Wilds over that any day."

As the others continued to banter, Abelas asked quietly, "How did you stand such incessant, inane jabber?"

Despite the heaviness of her conflicted, painful emotions, Ellana chuckled. She shrugged at him. "You grow to love it." She looked at the bickering humans and the mischievous Sera, still clutching her bow. "Well, at least when they're not having a _real_ disagreement. They're not so different really from my own clan—just stockier and with rounded ears. Well, except for Sera of course."

The sentinel nodded. His face, shadowed in the darkness, was hard to read but Ellana thought she saw contemplation in his eyes. After a moment of silence, he said, "I believe it is safe enough here that we may sleep for the night. I will gather some supplies and set up camp. We must make tea before we sleep."

Ellana arched an eyebrow. "You have the herbs to block dreams on you right now?"

"I always carry a supply," Abelas revealed and Ellana frowned, intrigued and perturbed simultaneously. Why had the herbs been so important to him that he'd keep them on his person at all times?

At her bemused look, Abelas smiled slightly. "An old habit borne of necessity from Elvhenan to avoid assassination," he explained. "High ranking sentinels such as myself were often targeted by rivals serving other Evanuris." As he spoke, Abelas reached into the gray-black surcoat he wore over his metallic armor and produced a large leather pouch, cinched shut and with well-worn wrinkles. "My stocks will not last long, however, with five of us. Fortunately, the herbs we require grow in abundance in this area."

Taking the pouch from him and gently teasing it open, Ellana smiled at the rich, earthy smell emanating from it. "Another reason you chose this spot, right?"

"Correct," Abelas said with a nod. "I will begin collecting more tonight. Any new herbs will need to be ground and mixed with tea to be completely palatable. Perhaps the archer could—"

"I'll do it," Ellana said firmly, cinching the pouch shut again. "I'd also like to learn which herbs you need so I can help forage."

Abelas scowled and shook his head, eyes drifting to her very round, pronounced belly. "You should not exert yourself."

"And what should I do instead of being useful? Sit around camp on my butt feeling sorry for myself?" Ellana grumbled, passing the pouch back to him. "No, thank you. I'll pass on that. Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm Dalish. A few years being pampered in the Inquisition has done nothing to dull the lessons my clan taught me before I got this." She raised her marked hand, wriggling the fingers. Her palm still showed the faint green gleam of the Anchor, though it didn't hurt.

Abelas' gaze dropped to the ground and he turned his head away. "Forgive me. I know little of the travails of childbirth—except that I witnessed my younger sister's birth a very long time ago and the trauma of it proved difficult even for my mother, who was immortal with the power of the Fade. You have no such luxuries here, unless we create a rune circle to restore this area." Meeting her gaze again, she saw a muscle tighten, feathering in his jaw. "I would agree to use my blood for the runes in the Fade if you wished."

"We'd have to fight demons to do it," Ellana murmured, frowning. "And Sera would rather leave than be in the Fade permanently." She smirked to herself, remembering the archer girl's panic only minutes previously. "I'm surprised she followed us into the eluvian at Halamshiral, to be honest."

"Their devotion to you is remarkable," Abelas agreed. "It is impressive even to me, lethallan."

Ellana eyed him, torn between smiling to accept his compliment, offering her thanks, and choosing a more humble and wary response of dismissal. Was he flirting with her? She found the thought mind-boggling and fought the sudden heat that leapt to her cheeks. She was glad for the darkness that would hide it from him. Here she was, having grown to twice her normal size, a clumsy and veritable whale, about to burst with another Elvhen man's child, and somehow Abelas was flattering her.

"Thank you," she answered, chuckling dryly. "But really, I think you're impressed because you made the same mistake Solas did: your expectations of modern elves are far too low. We can do little but surprise you."

Abelas dipped his head to her, silently conceding the point. "As you say, lethallan." He gazed out of the crumbling pavilion at the overgrown clearing around them. "I must make myself useful. Keep the others awake and advise them on the tea until I return. Be watchful as there are great bears and other beasts roaming these forests."

"I'll let them know and we'll keep watch," Ellana reassured him. She watched as he walked down the jumbled stones of the stairway nearby and through the tall grass and brush. Moonlight glinted from the sharp points of the armor at his shoulders.

After a few moments, Ellana left the edge of the pavilion and moved to begin setting up camp with the others.

* * *

Solas woke to pain pulsating through his skull, pounding in time with his heartbeat. Smoke stung his eyes and burned in his throat. Orange firelight danced over the buildings he could see at the edges of his blurry vision. His blood made a whooshing sound in his ears, muffled and echoing as if his head had become hollow.

Jagged memories rose up from the depths of his mind: the round impressions of hoofmarks in the dirt off the road outside Halamshiral, the warm wash of magic from the Anchor as Ellana unleashed it somewhere within the city in a blast, and the realization that she would be dying soon without him to remove her arm. Fear and determination made his heart hammer, made the pain in his head worsen as the world blurred and spun. How long had he been unconscious? What had happened that had thrown him from the hart?

Reaching for his core, he found it sluggish and drained—a consequence of hitting his head. Yet it stirred at his touch, ever responsive and eager, even despite the strangling hold of the Veil. Siphoning a significant portion of it, Solas willed it into healing magic and sighed with relief as the pain in his head receded to something dim and tolerable.

Accented voices cut through his awareness then as a youthful sounding male said, "D'you feel that? Thought you said he was dead, Bail?"

"Feel what?" a gruffer voice answered. Solas heard the shuffle and scrape of booted feet over the stone, coming closer.

"Magic," the first one answered. "Guy must be a mage, but he's wearing too much metal for that. Thought he was dead. D'you even check afore?"

"You daft twit, I'm a dwarf. Of course I didn't feel any magic. And I never said he was dead. I said I _thought_ he was dead. Elves are fragile, like little birds. Ever wring a pigeon's neck?" The gruff voice chuckled as the shuffling reached Solas' side, letting him see through his swimming vision the bulky shape of a bearded dwarf.

"No," the youthful voice replied. "Always liked pigeons."

"Then let me show you how easy it is to do one of these little shits in." His knees cracked and he grunted as he knelt, reaching for Solas' neck.

With a flare of his eyes, Solas petrified the dwarf before those meaty hands could touch him. Then, as he heard the other man yell with shock, Solas drew mana for a mindblast, exploding the energy of it around him with a weak flick of one hand. He heard the man cry out, his feet scraping over the cobblestone as the blast blew him backward. The barrage also knocked over the petrified dwarf. The statue clattered on the road, smashing into multiple pieces on impact.

Solas pushed himself to his feet, swaying as vertigo made the world spin. His head still ached, pounding even more now that he was upright. Drawing more magic, he muttered another healing spell and let out a long breath as again the pain diminished.

He felt along the back of his head underneath the wolf headdress, which was secured in place with magic so not even being thrown from the hart could remove it. His fingers came back damp and sticky with half-dried blood and he grimaced. It'd been some fall, apparently. No wonder the dwarf had believed him dead.

A human boy about five meters down the street gawked at him, eyes round with astonishment and glittering with orange firelight. His hands were covered in blood and he carried a bow in one fist. "You're _him,"_ the boy shouted. "You're really _him!"_

Before Solas could react, the boy turned and bolted, arms and legs pumping at a frantic pace. He disappeared into a dark alleyway, leaving Solas alone in the street. If he'd been in a better mood he might've laughed at the dark humor of the boy's panic and realization when, as far as Solas was concerned, this was one of his weakest and least impressive moments. He'd been flung from his mount and nearly killed by head trauma. It'd make for a rather anticlimactic end for the infamous Dread Wolf.

Walking unsteadily in the direction the boy had fled, and where Solas had come from while on the hart, he searched the street for any sign of his mount. Bricks had fallen from the burning building nearby, scorched black. The heat of the flames licked at Solas' skin, making him sweat. Ash was thick in the air and all the windows on this street had been broken, raided early in the chaos of the rebellion. As such, the street was littered with bodies, rubble, and other refuse. Solas passed a chamber pot coated with dark stains, a massive crinoline bustle, and a wooden washbasin that were just lying in the street or on the sidewalk.

About five meters from where he'd awoken, Solas saw the hart's body and immediately fury made him shake, recalling the boy's bloodied hands. They'd been _butchering_ the hart for meat, right in the street. The animal's eyes stared unseeingly now, glassy and lifeless. Its tongue was missing, cut out. _Orlesians will eat anything,_ Solas thought with a disgusted sneer.

No matter. The desperate, urgent beat started up inside him again, remembering the Anchor's caress of magic from earlier. He'd lost time in the attack. He needed to make up for it. Solas oriented himself toward where he recalled the magic coming from and, drawing in a deep breath and ignoring the lingering weakness and lethargy in his limbs, focused on his core to weave the powerful shapeshifting spell. Gradually he felt the magic expand over him, creating ghostly sensations, twitching his muscles as he became the Wolf.

After a few moments he opened his eyes, cringing as he found the firelight suddenly too bright for his night-adjusted predator's eyes. The Evanuris had forbidden shapeshifting into the greatest beasts—dragons. They reserved that right for themselves and although Solas could have taken that form once he joined their ranks, he'd never done so, preferring a humbler and cleverer animal. Most nobles dabbled in reshaping themselves into griffins, six-legged harts with wings, ogres with claws, and anything else that struck their fancies. Solas had spent plenty of time wearing the shape of a Wolf in the wilds to hide his face without knowing it was fashionable among Elvhenan's nobility. Now it just served to terrify and speed his passage, though with the Veil it was difficult to maintain for prolonged periods.

Arching his back, Solas flexed his four paws on the stone beneath him, relishing in the grip of his pads. Then he ran, cutting through the same alleyway the boy had fled through, following his magical senses toward the Anchor. He heard a scream as the boy, hunkering down and hiding in the shadows of the alley, scrambled to escape, but Solas had no interest in him and simply ran right through. He caught the whiff of urine as the human boy panicked and wet himself.

In the next street over, Solas picked up speed, leaping over rubble and weaving through blockades of abandoned carts or dead horses and other mounts or beasts of burden—or dead bodies: humans and elves alike. Halamshiral was a burning mess of death and destruction as a thousand years of mixed history, both human and elven, turned to ash. It was all his doing, _his_ fault.

It wasn't hard to imagine how repulsive this would have been to someone like Ellana. Solas could view it dispassionately, aloof and removed as Fen'Harel. This was merely chaos, necessary and unpleasant, but temporary as elves reclaimed what should have rightly been theirs from the start. He'd seen worse in Elvhenan, carnage wrought by Falon'din's armies as he destroyed and murdered thousands in Dirthamen's territory. But to Ellana it was carnage, wanton and bloody and as bad as anything she'd seen in her short mortal life.

_Short. Mortal._ The realizations rang through him, piercing like knives. She was dying, perhaps already dead. And it was _his_ fault, on multiple levels, just as Halamshiral's burning was. If he'd taken the time to warn her, to prepare her and open himself to her counsel, she wouldn't have run. She'd done the same thing when he left her in the dark about leaving to attack the Forgotten Ones and dismissing the plan Mythal had suggested in favor of his own, no matter the cost.

Cutting through another alley between two burning noble's homes, Solas leaped through the disintegrating, smoldering coals of what had once been a tall wooden fence. He was the size of a large horse while wearing the Wolf shape, easily tall enough to barrel through such obstacles. He shook the burning embers from his coat without stopping, racing through a yard and into the street beyond it where he felt the Anchor's magic still lingering like a foul odor.

Bloody chunks of corpses lay scattered over the street, flung about and torn asunder by the power of the Anchor's blast. Solas trotted through the slaughter, sniffing and circling, ears flicking to and fro as his skin—and fur, really—bristled with the power of the magic. It had been millennia since he'd felt such powerful spirit magic, his _own_ spirit magic, used in a battle. Closing and opening rifts and forming Aegis were all small uses of the Anchor, requiring fairly little magic. The massive damage Ellana could deal with Mark of the Rift was due to the Fade-tears themselves, not the Anchor's magic.

The blasts would destroy her; consume her from within and without. It was meant for _him,_ designed to channel the magic from the Fade through _his_ body and _his_ spirit. Solas had the capacity to carry it, to shape and wield it without being consumed. In Ellana, who wasn't even a mage without the restored Fade, it'd be like striking stone with a sledgehammer. Eventually, pieces would break off. Slam it enough times and even the strongest stone would fracture and crumble.

He closed his eyes as the scorched stink of the fires and the tang of blood and salt seemed to claw at his throat and eyes, accusing and damning. The Wolf shape around him rippled, failing as his concentration slipped and dizziness gripped him as his thoughts kept drilling into him like a torturer's blades beneath his fingernails. From the moment she'd been marked at the conclave, Ellana had been doomed, her death assured. And the killing blow would always be by his hand.

And now, as though losing his heart wasn't bad enough, he'd lose their child. Just as with everyone else precious to him that he'd lost over the ages—Mythal, his parents, countless friends—their deaths were _his_ fault. Without Ellana and their child, what point was there in saving this world? In living? He would still fight as Fen'Harel, but he would walk the din'anshiral, the path of ultimate sacrifice, and welcome oblivion when it finally claimed him. Solas would already be long dead.

Feeling the magic of the Wolf shape fail brought Solas out of his dark reverie. He reached again for his core and summoned the shape once more, refocusing. Padding through the center of the blast, where the magic was strongest, Solas made a wide circle, checking the perimeter for her body. He found no trace of her, but he _did_ discover the body of a sentinel—Darae. If one sentinel had been with her, Solas knew that confirmed his suspicion that Mythal was the one leading this. Where was she taking Ellana? What had she planned?

Urgency tightened its hot grip on his heart as he let his magical senses follow the residual energies of the Anchor, leading him at a swift trot down the street. His mind spun, trying to calculate how much time had passed since the blast and wondering if Mythal had the strength inside Morrigan to sever Ellana's forearm or even quiet the Anchor the way he could temporarily.

_I should have taken it when she begged me,_ Solas thought as pain cut through his chest, hurting more with each breath in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke in the air. He'd held back, primarily determined not to maim her, but also unwilling to _lose_ the Anchor. Ellana didn't seem to realize that in taking her forearm Solas wouldn't be reclaiming the Anchor as much as shattering it. He could recollect pieces using the foci Zevanni carried, but it might never be whole and functional again.

At the end of the street Solas saw a tall, bulky figure emerge out of a house that was, miraculously, not burning. He slowed his trot, head low and lips curling back from sharp fangs, ears flattening and fur bristling. Most spells in the Wolf shape were impossible, but he had the Wolf's teeth, claws, and superior senses on his side. As his muscles bunched, ready to launch him through the thick haze of smoke, he saw the figure pass in front of a fiery building in the distance and realized it had enormous horns and a familiar great axe.

_Iron Bull?_

Still wary, Solas kept the Wolf shape as he sprinted ahead, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the Tal-Vashoth. Iron Bull was jogging fast through the street, away from the home he'd stepped out of. Solas marked that spot in his mind, but there seemed nothing unusual about it just yet and he couldn't let slip the chance to confront the warrior.

Darting out of the smoke to cut off Iron Bull's path, Solas halted in front of him, tail raised and fur standing on end. Iron Bull skidded to a stop, flailing a second in his abruptness and alarm. Solas could smell the sudden surge of acrid fear pouring from the Qunari and would have frowned if the Wolf could have managed the expression. Why would Bull react that way?

"Fucking demon," Iron Bull spat, answering Solas' question. He let out a roar and hefted up the great axe, swinging for Solas' head.

Solas twisted nimbly, avoiding the head of the axe and catching the haft of it in his jaws, in the gap left between Iron Bull's meaty fists where they gripped it high and low. The haft tasted good against his tongue with a mixture of salt from Iron Bull's sweat and the pleasant flavor of the wood itself. Solas' teeth sank into it as he clamped down and then pivoted on all four paws, jerking to try and rip the axe from Iron Bull's hands.

With a deep-throated curse in Qunlat, Iron Bull clung to the axe one-handed, though Solas lifted him bodily from the street and swung him in an arc. Iron Bull slammed his other fist into Solas' jaw, sending a sharp spurt of hot pain through him. Solas let out a noise that was both growl and whine, realizing that he needed to change tactics. He'd _expected_ Iron Bull to see him and recognize the Dread Wolf, but of course the warrior had never seen him make such a transformation before and just assumed he was a demon. But if he released the Wolf now, while Iron Bull was in a bloodlust fury of attack, he was liable to wind up with the weapon embedded in his chest before he could stop the warrior's next swing—unless he petrified him and that was not an option.

Raising a paw, Solas pushed on Iron Bull's chest, ignoring the next punch to his snout though it burned in his nose and he smelled blood. Iron Bull bellowed out his rage, but even in fury and with his Qunari strength, he couldn't withstand the Wolf. His grip finally failed and Solas tore the axe free, quickly hopping backward and tossing his head to throw the weapon down the street with a clatter that was lost over the roar of the fire.

Then, releasing his focus on the Wolf, Solas let the shape vanish. The magic evaporated, leaving him coated in sweat and diminished, standing a few meters from Iron Bull in his dirty armor, the surcoat and wolf headdress he wore both stained and torn. To be safe, Solas quickly put up a barrier with a flick of one hand as he shouted, "Where is Ellana?"

Shoulders and chest heaving, skin glistening in the light of the fires burning across the street to their right, Iron Bull gawked at him. Then his brow furrowed and his mouth formed a snarl. "What the fuck, Solas?" he demanded, hands curling into shaking fists at his sides. "I thought you were the _fucking_ demon."

_The_ demon? Solas frowned, heart pounding and head spinning. He didn't have _time_ to be curious. "Tell me where Ellana is," he ordered, almost growling.

"I don't know," Iron Bull answered, shouting and still snarling. "And even if I _did_ know, I wouldn't tell _you_."

Solas' guts seemed to turn to liquid even as rage made his muscles tense and his heart hammer harder in his chest. He edged forward a step, unconsciously trying to intimidate Iron Bull, feeling his core churning with the desire to call hostile magic. "The Anchor has destabilized. I felt it," he bit out, spitting the words with his fury. "She'll _die_ without my help." Breaking off, his chest seemed to seize, causing him to make a sort of whining noise, weak and plaintive as emotion overwhelmed him. _"Please,_ the Iron Bull. I _cannot_ lose her."

Iron Bull's expression and body language softened. "She isn't dying. Morrigan stabilized the Anchor doing some bullshit in the Fade."

"Stabilized it?" Solas blurted, stunned into staring stupidly. "How is that possible?" He shook his head. "You must be mistaken."

Iron Bull shrugged, his posture stiffening again. "I don't know how she did it, but Morrigan said it's been stabilized. Ellana is safe. That's why we brought her here." He paused a moment as Solas' mouth dropped open again with shock and he started looking around, searching for Ellana with new desperation. But then Iron Bull said, "That and she just wanted to get away from _you._ "

Flinching as Iron Bull's words hit him, Solas took a step back, dizzy from the smoke, the heat of the roaring fires around them, and confirmation of what had motivated Ellana. Her words echoed through his mind: _Don't call me vhenan._ His stomach clenched and he swallowed, suddenly certain he was about to vomit.

"Where is she?" Solas repeated, voice gruff and tight with desperation. Even if she was safe with the Anchor somehow stabilized…he _had_ to find her and keep her safe, make things right between them if at all possible. He could _not_ miss their child's birth.

"Like I said," Iron Bull growled. "I don't know."

"Why did you leave her?" Solas demanded, gesturing angrily. "Who was she with?"

"I left because my men are out there in this mess that _you_ caused," Iron Bull snapped. "And I have nothing else to say to _you."_ Iron Bull glowered as he stomped forward straight for Solas, as if he planned to barrel through him and crush him underfoot.

Gritting his teeth, Solas sidestepped to avoid Iron Bull and then Fade-stepped with the usual whine-pop of the maneuver, crossing the distance back to the house he'd seen the warrior emerge from. The door was unlocked, the air inside cooler and clearer than outside. Now that he was closer, Solas felt the lingering energy of the Anchor here in the back of his mind, along with the pull of an inactive eluvian.

Like a bloodhound, Solas followed his senses through the darkened interior to a large bedroom with a walk-in closet containing the mirror. Thrusting his palm to the glass, Solas tried to reactivate it, but the magic kept doubling back to him, like a rubber ball rebounding from a hard surface. He tried twice to be certain, frowning with concentration as he willed the eluvian to make a connection with whatever mirror it'd last joined with. Yet the magic failed, repelled.

"Fenedhis," he cursed, snarling with frustration. The eluvian had been reset from the other side and for all of Solas' power, he could not override it to re-forge the connection. It was like trying to piece together broken glass. Out of curiosity, Solas laid a hand over the golden metal holding the glass and closed his eyes, slipping a little of his magic into the metal to _taste_ the energy left by whoever last activated the mirror. He grimaced as _Mythal_ and _Morrigan_ 's magic flowed back to him.

Making a fist, shaking with fury, he fought down the desire to punch the glass with frustration. Breathing hard and fast, he left the closet and paced through the bedroom like a caged animal, head bowed and shoulders hunched beneath the stained, dirty headdress. He wanted to believe Iron Bull had spoken the truth, even if the giant warrior hadn't provided any explanation as to how the Anchor could be stabilized when Solas himself had no idea of how to do it. Yet he had no way to go after her, no way to find her when she could be _anywhere_.

And he'd be needed at the winter palace. The People needed _someone_ to restore order after the rebellion. Solas had never considered himself the greatest ruler or political leader, though his time presiding over Falon'din's lands hadn't been without success in the times he could outwit the other Evanuris causing him difficulty. Still, the Dalish had no singular leader amongst them and Zevanni was only adept at chaos and carnage. Mathrel and Lyris might maintain a semblance of order and honor for a time, but Celene and Briala would never negotiate peace or strike an accord with the arcane warriors they'd only known as his bodyguards.

And, of course, there was the added frustration and dangerous fact that the Inquisition leaders and the Divine had escaped. He had Orlais and the Dales in his grasp, but the Inquisition and the Chantry could march against Halamshiral and reduce it to rubble in an Exalted March. Orlesian nobles were sure to send forces as well. Solas' people would be overrun, routed and slaughtered.

Unless they had the strength of the Fade and an Evanuris at their helm. But without the Anchor that wouldn't be possible.

_That is why she left,_ Solas thought and felt sick again, ready to vomit or scream. He wasn't sure which. He wanted to rage, angry that she could put him in such a vulnerable position, but he knew he'd done the same to her when he set this rebellion in motion. If he had just spoken with her first…

_You drove her away, just as you did before, but this time it is much worse._

Her voice shouted again in his mind: _Don't call me vhenan. If I was your heart you would have sought me out when this was still a choice._

A vase beside the door caught his attention, inlaid with gold and made of delicate white porcelain. Snarling, Solas made a punching motion, sending a focused mindblast at it. The vase exploded, the pale flecks of shrapnel flying in a spray, some bits as fine and white as snowflakes.

"May you learn," he growled to himself. "May you learn."

Whipping on one heel, Solas strode to the closet and thrust his palm to the glass, willing it to reactivate. This time, however, he gave it a command it could obey: connect with one of the inactive eluvians in the winter palace storage rooms. The mirror acquiesced with a musical chime inside his mind as the connection solidified.

Shoulders slumping with defeat even as his hands still trembled, Solas stepped through the eluvian.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"What?" the blonde asked, grinning so wide Ellana was sure she could see the archer's every tooth. "I really wanna know, honest. I won't tell, promise."

Ellana frowned, cheeks still afire. "The last time you promised not to tell anyone something I wanted kept secret the whole winter palace knew the very next day."

Sera scoffed. "What you on about? What'd I do?"

Glaring, Ellana said, "You told everyone I was pregnant at the Exalted Council."

"No I didn't," Sera said at once, nose wrinkling as if Ellana had genuinely insulted her. "I only told Iron Bull." Pausing a moment, her brow furrowed as she considered. "Oh, right, and Rainier. And Widdle." She winced then and giggled nervously. "Oh, and the barkeep in the tavern. And the server grabbing glasses."

"And everyone, really," Dorian quipped from the shore. "Long story short, Ellana was right."


	41. Ma Eshalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas struggles to find some way to trace Ellana...and finds it with a little help from a most unlikely source.

"Solas," Ellana's voice called from behind him, quiet and breathy.

Sighing, Solas pivoted around to regard the elven woman standing a few meters behind him. She was vivid and beautiful, dressed as she had been when they'd entered the winter palace for peace talks. The gray-blue coat with its white fur-lined hood was elegant and exactly as he remembered it. His fingers twitched, remembering the softness of it, almost as nice to touch as her skin. The swell of her belly, hidden by the coat but still obvious to him, made something flush with warm relief inside of him.

But as she stepped forward through the long summer grass in the meadow between them, Solas' heart twisted. His shoulders fell and he frowned. The back of his neck prickled with gooseflesh, despite the fact he had no hair to bristle there.

"Solas," Ellana said again, tears in her voice and her eyes. "I'm so sorry I left. I was wrong."

She reached out to him, but Solas raised a hand. "Venavis," he ordered tersely.

"What is it?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"Did you think to deceive me so easily, demon?" Solas asked it, more tired than angry or irritated. After a week of such nightly encounters he'd almost lost hope that anything _except_ demons would answer his will. Every night he appealed to the Fade, willing it to bring Ellana's dreaming mind to him, and every night hosts of demons responded instead. His turbulent emotions drew these hostile spirits and although most of them wouldn't have tried to prey on him—sensing his power and experience as well as his identity—the despair and heartache riding him was too much for them to resist.

The bafflement and innocence lifted from "Ellana's" face as a broad, wicked grin spread over her lips. The teeth leered, too big for the demon's mouth. Watching it, Solas sighed, unimpressed. Even with him demons couldn't stop themselves from choosing a flair for the monstrous when they knew the jig was up. A Circle mage or other Andrastian with their widely differing background from Solas would've seen the demon warp into something nastier, convoluted and truly monstrous. The demon reflected the sleeper's mind and expectations. So it was that this demon retained Ellana's shape, just with a slight gruesome edge.

"Away with you," he told it, motioning one hand dismissively.

"But this is the woman you want," the demon said, still using her voice. "I can be her. We can help each other. I can feel you're hurting, Solas. I want to help."

Six nights and about twice as many demons repeating the same dribble had left Solas both tired and impatient. He glowered at the demon, struggling to find and preserve a modicum of patience for this semi-hostile spirit that wasn't truly a threat to him. He'd lectured most of the demons who'd tried to tempt him, warding them away and trying, in vain he suspected, to educate them about _why_ their interaction with sleepers was unwelcome or harmful.

Most of the simpler, weaker demons Solas encountered behaved as they did because they wanted to _help_ mortals, much like Cole. All demons hoped to embody the mortal's existence, rewarding the sleeper with whatever particular aspect the hostile spirit represented. In turn the demons gained understanding and a glimpse of the living world. Fear demons often created nightmares, terrorizing sleepers in their fumbling efforts to help the mortal _face_ their fears and work through them. Pride demons promised power and offered strength and encouragement, bolstering those who might waver before a challenge but also advising against things like caution, compassion, and forgiveness. Desire demons dangled a much longed for person, thing, or event, fulfilling the fantasy for the sleeper and then feeding from the mortal's satisfaction.

This particular demon, like the majority that'd visited Solas over the last week, was one based around desire. And, also like the others, it came to him wearing Ellana's shape. Solas would've seen through it regardless of what shape it took. His senses were too keen to be fooled longer than a few minutes. He'd felt the demon's _otherness_ in the gooseflesh dimpling his skin as his spirit reacted to its nearness.

"You can only mimic," Solas told the demon. "You offer only distraction, never satisfaction." He stared off into the forest that had conjured in the Fade around him. Each night he tried to keep his mind empty, to will the Fade to shape itself in the images and memories of Ellana or anyone he suspected could be with her: Morrigan, Dorian, Arina, Zaron, Abelas, Rainier, and Sera. Nothing had worked and eventually the Fade would just shape itself into the meadow and forests around Wycome, a reflection of Solas' desire to be closer to Ellana.

"I know your mind," the demon said, flirty and warm. The leering smile had shrunken into something normal and soft, inviting. "I know you have enjoyed our company before. You can pretend now. You can enjoy yourself."

Solas rolled his eyes and again waved dismissively at the demon. "Enough. You waste my time." Whipping around, Solas strode through the meadow several meters away, closing his eyes and plucking out another one of Ellana's potential companions: Dorian. He recalled the Tevinter mage's crisp voice and accent, the dark brown-black of his hair, the quick, sharp wit and his determination and bravery in coming to the Inquisition to fight Corypheus. As much as he might dislike Dorian, Solas knew the Fade responded best when he used neutral or positive things to identify the person he was seeking, preferably those that lacked any personal connection. Such focus helped avoid demons as well as helped ensure success.

But, as was the norm for the past week, Solas found no answer from the Fade. When he opened his eyes the grassy meadow and forest had lost its clarity, taking on a transparent edge as it wavered. Then the meadow and the distant trees warped. The flat land rose up and massive trees reared toward the sky. Solas saw wooden ramps spiraling up the side of the massive tree trunk off to his right. This was the Frostback Basin, where he had helped Ellana rout the Hakkonites while investigating the last Inquisitor, Ameridan. It'd seemed nonsensical to him at first that the Fade routinely conjured the Frostback Basin when he thought of Dorian, but now he realized this was when he'd felt closest to the other man. As they provided Ellana backup against the Hakkonites they'd traded witty barbs at each other and discussed nuanced magical technique.

Just as it always did, the Fade had sensed his desire and _wanted_ to acquiesce, but it had no one to show him. Dorian was not in the Fade and neither was Ellana. The closest it could get was to give him a location he could connect to Dorian. Though Solas hadn't been expecting anything other than this, he still sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands, frustrated and defeated.

It was feasible that Ellana could be sleeping fitfully or barely touching the Fade as she slept in the hopes of avoiding him. But for Dorian to be doing it too beggared comprehension. He was a mage, which meant his mind and spirit naturally crossed the Veil each night, drawing special attention from spirits. Unless he was dosing himself with specialized herbs to stop dreaming, of course.

Glancing behind him, Solas saw that the desire demon had disappeared. Distance and time were both unclear at best in the dream world. At worst they were outright illusions. Regardless, Solas had changed the landscape, altering his location after a fashion. As such, he'd banished the desire demon. It could follow him, but that was unlikely. Simpler demons, like children, had short attention spans.

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts regarding the desire demon, Solas felt his skin prickle at the back of his neck again. The sensation of being watched crawled over him. "Show yourself," Solas ordered, twisting around to stare at the Frostback Basin forest all around him.

"She's never coming back," a small, childish voice said.

Whipping his head in the direction of the sound, Solas saw a small figure at the base of the enormous tree with the wooden ramps spiraling up it. High in the tree's branches Solas could see the shape of Inquisition tents. Before he could stop it, a faint memory darted across his mind of making love to Ellana in one of those tents and overhearing Dorian the next morning admonishing her for being too loud and waking him. Something cold and worming with pain tightened into a knot in his stomach.

"You'll never get to hold her again," the figure said.

Solas regarded it with narrowed eyes, identifying it as another demon. Yet this one wasn't a desire demon. It seemed to have adopted the shape of a young child, lean and coltish and gender neutral. Where it stood in the shadow of the tree trunk, with one hand resting against the bark, Solas couldn't make out any distinguishing features.

"I have no interest in speaking with you," Solas told it, firm but patient. "Be gone."

"You have lost your lover," the child said. "Just as Banal'anaris promised. But it was not your enemies who stole her away. It was you. It has always been you, Dread Wolf."

Cold swept over Solas, clutching at his throat and running through his blood. His body stiffened and his breath caught as he saw the child step clear of the tree trunk's shadow. In the golden light of the sun he saw the child was elven, with Ellana's auburn hair.

"She will curse you with her dying breath," the child said, repeating the Forgotten One's dying promise to him. "Your child will never know you and deny its heritage in shame, bowed and broken as a slave in Tevinter."

"No," Solas spat, the single word deep and jittery with his fear. Another chill passed over him.

The child stared at him, glowering in silent recrimination. Its stare reminded him of every crime, every wrongdoing and failure. "You kill those closest to you," the child reminded him. "You are the Dread Wolf. Bringer of Nightmares. He Who Hunts Alone."

"You are a fear demon," Solas murmured, breathing deep to calm himself and brush off the demon's words. He reminded himself he didn't believe in prophecies and superstition was the hallmark of fools. Yet, he knew himself to be one such fool. Fear had played a huge hand in his life recently as he worried Ellana and his child would be inadvertently killed by his rebellion just as his parents were in Elvhenan.

The child ignored his comment. "Your child will be born weak, far away from you. It will die before you ever see or hold it."

"No," Solas repeated, but winced at how breathless it sounded. The desire demon had been easy compared to this. He tried to quash the cold in the pit of his stomach and focus on what he knew of demons, to turn the tables on this being. "You are not helping me overcome my fears by laying them out for me. You only enhance them by reminding me."

The child cocked its head at him. "You make the Fade hard. I cannot shape it to show you what you need to face. To learn."

"Showing me my fears is no better than telling me them," Solas said. "I did not come here to interact with my fears or to face them. There is nothing to be gained from doing that here."

The child stared at him, apparently uncomprehending. Most simple demons lacked the capacity to truly understand these concepts because they didn't know what the physical world and the living beings inhabiting it were like any longer. They embodied purposes and emotions, seeking meaning from those things and mindlessly seeking them in the consciousness of the sleepers they encountered.

With the fear demon still contemplating, Solas turned his back on it and closed his eyes, willing the Fade to show him someone he knew _would_ be available. He recalled Mahanon's laughter and smile, his hazel eyes, the easy humor he wielded like Ellana, and the paternal love he'd displayed for his young daughter. When he opened his eyes this time Solas saw the gilded walls of the winter palace around him, a reflection of Mahanon's immediate surroundings. The Dalish elf in question was at the end of the hall, head craned upward as he stared at portraits on the wall, framed in ostentatious gold that glimmered under the candlelight chandeliers lining the corridor.

"Mahanon," Solas called.

The Dalish First whipped around, hazel eyes wide as he saw he wasn't alone. "Solas," he said in greeting and then, shuffling on his feet, added, "Hahren."

Solas wanted to correct the younger man with something less formal, but Mahanon was already more familiar with him than any of the other Dalish Firsts. Best not to show too much favoritism. "Did you find any sign? Any rumor?"

Mahanon's head drooped. "Nothing. I thought for sure she'd have reached out to the clan by now. The baby is due at any time, I should think."

He'd ordered Mahanon and several other members of Ellana's clan to return daily to the Emerald Graves, searching for her. Especially with Ellana so close to giving birth, Solas couldn't shake the certainty that she'd return to her clan, to her mother and the other women of Lavellan. He didn't let himself consider what it might mean if she _didn't_ return to them. What if she was held somewhere against her will?

…What if she was dead?

He lurched to his right, one arm shooting out to catch himself. Fear pounded like a frozen fist on the inside of his skull. Mahanon sprinted for him, gripping his shoulder and calling his name worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm waking," he lied, sighing as his shoulders slumped.

"Ah," Mahanon said and then withdrew a step, shuffling in place again. "Wherever Lana is, I'm sure she's fine. She's always been tough and headstrong, but I can't imagine she'd stay away from you or the clan when she…" He went silent, frowning and averting his gaze as he admitted, "I'm worried for her too."

"We _must_ find her," Solas muttered, shooting the Dalish elf sidelong looks as he started to turn away, eyes drifting shut as he reached inward and willed himself out of the Fade.

When he opened his eyes again it was to blackness. His room in the winter palace—the same one he and Ellana had shared until the night of the rebellion—smelled faintly of wood smoke, a lingering scent leftover from the many fires that'd ravaged the structure and the grounds. Var and a number of other elves had spent the night of the rebellion meticulously finding and putting out fires using both magic and good old-fashioned water. They had managed to save most of the palace. Halamshiral had not been as lucky. As much as half the city had burned to the ground, leaving nothing but ash. Solas had welcomed homeless elves into the palace, which was surprisingly empty without the multitude of human nobles lodged inside it.

As for the empress and Briala, Solas kept them locked up but well treated. His meetings with them had been fruitless so far as the empress seemed too stunned to deal with the situation and Briala remained wary. Solas had learned there'd been some double-crossing by the Marquise the night of the rebellion, but he'd expected as much. Briala was like a raven with its wings clipped and its claws blunted now. She could do little to actually harm him. If she'd had a hand in Ellana's disappearance she would've revealed it right away to ensure she had power over him. Her silence meant she had nothing.

It was still far too early to rise for the day, but Solas lay in the empty bed, staring unseeingly at the canopy above him and trying not to think or feel. Yet the other side of the enormous bed was cold, empty when it should have been full. Each morning he woke with the memories of feeling their child move and had to realize that he'd probably never share that simple pleasure with her again.

On the first night, upon returning to the room to sleep after losing her, Solas had found the bow he'd commissioned for her as a betrothal gift from the craftsman of her clan. He'd laid it on her side of the bed, clutching it as he drifted into sleep, entering the Fade to search for her the first time. He'd hoped to conjure the bow in its exact detail when he encountered her in the dreaming, to present it to her and plead with her to return. But she'd not been there. And when he woke, exhausted and despairing, he'd cradled it in his lap and rocked on the bed as a storm of agony tore him up from within.

_Don't call me vhenan._

He felt over the bed to where he still kept the bow, and palmed the grip, feeling the way the metal and wood called to his own magic. _Her affinity is lightning,_ he reminded himself and imagined teaching her how to channel her mana through the bow, intensifying both her magic and the deadliness of her arrows. He ignored the way his heart twisted with stabbing pain as he wondered if he'd ever get to present it to her, teach her. Why hadn't he done it sooner? Why hadn't he consulted her properly before the rebellion? Why hadn't he _trusted_ her?

Was it really too late now?

"Ar lath ma," he whispered into the dark, his voice broken and cracking. He squeezed the bow, vowing he wouldn't give up.

* * *

"Don't care how cute it is when it comes out," Sera grumbled on her tirade. "Never having one. Ever." She shivered under the chilly waterfall, her lanky body pale except for where she'd vigorously scrubbed to clean away accumulated filth. She spluttered as she ducked her head beneath the falls, then shook, making her hair flap wildly from side-to-side.

Ellana watched her with less than concealed envy for the other elven woman's nimbleness and energy. Meanwhile she couldn't help but feel awkward in her own skin, stretched to the breaking point and weighed down with both her baby and the constant self-doubt and pain of her emotional baggage. Had she done the right thing in leaving Solas, or was she merely fleeing responsibility? How could she live with herself if she learned later that the Chantry, the Inquisition, and Orlais had all marched on Halamshiral and slaughtered every last elf remaining there? And if she went back to restore the Fade to Halamshiral, she'd be unleashing an Evanuris on the humans and she didn't trust Solas not to misuse his full power. Either way, Ellana would have bloody hands, she would be complicit in thousands of deaths.

"You're doing it again," Sera scolded her and made an exaggeratedly sad scowl, imitating Ellana. "Thought the bath was s'post to cheer you up? Yeah?"

"No," Ellana muttered, splashing water from the falls onto her face. "It was just to get clean after butchering the august ram."

Sera made a noise of disgust in her throat and then laughed. "Right on that, yeah. Andraste's skivvies, that codger had more blood in `em than a dragon."

Ellana scrubbed at her fingernails again, grimacing as she picked out flecks of blood and gore still lodged there. The water was just cool enough to be slightly uncomfortable, but Ellana's ankles were hot, swollen and inflamed, so immersing herself in the hip-deep pool beneath the waterfall was a tiny slice of bliss for that particular ailment. She hadn't thought it possible a week ago when they'd first arrived, but she'd managed to get even bigger in the belly, until the enlarged, altered belt she'd crafted in the Emerald Graves no longer fastened. She'd used her personal dagger to poke a new hole into the edge of the leather belt and prayed it wouldn't tear clean through.

"Why'd you get all sore `bout me busting the skin?" Sera asked, still wounded by Ellana's brief tantrum over the punctures she'd accidentally and clumsily made in the ram's skin as they butchered it. She _may_ have overreacted slightly, frustrated by back pain and swollen ankles, the constant breaks to relieve her bladder all while trying to supervise Sera's clumsy butchering. The ram had soft, short fur like a halla and Ellana had immediately envisioned it as swaddling and blankets for her baby. Unfortunately Sera's knife had put several sizeable holes in it.

Thinking about it now still made Ellana huff with frustration. Despite the lingering exhaustion she'd been feeling for weeks now, she also found herself unable to sit still, itching to be productive and constantly fighting against the others' attempts to coddle her. Pregnant women in the clan were never left to sit idle. There was always something to do, to prepare. Sometimes that was just the next meal, but more often than not it was tanning hides, sewing baby clothes and baby carriers. Sera and the others didn't seem to understand the growing urgency stirring inside her, the anxious certainty that made Ellana fidget with impatience, even though looking at her should make it _obvious._

The baby was due any day now; Ellana could feel that truth in her aching back and swollen ankles. And they weren't ready for it, at all.

"Ai," Sera groused. "Sorry I asked, your lady grumpy lumps."

Ellana snorted, both irritated and amused at Sera's quip. "Yes, I _am_ a large collection of lumps these days." Sighing, she sank deeper into the water, submerging up to her neck and shivering at the chill. Her breasts felt hot and mildly achy too. She groaned with relief as the cool settled on her everywhere. "I may never leave this pool again," she admitted, leaning her head back against a rock.

"Baby'll drown if you push it out here," Sera said, flashing a tight grin. "Bad idea."

"She wasn't being serious," Dorian said from further downstream, his back to them and his staff resting against one shoulder.

"I know," Sera rejoined defensively. "Still."

"I didn't understand why the expectant mothers in my clan complained so much near the end," Ellana murmured, still enjoying the water. "I'll take back every word I ever said about their grumbling when I see my clan again."

"Hard work, yeah?" Sera asked, then sniggered, covering her lips with one hand. Her next question was hissed quietly, trying to hide it from Dorian. "So," she whispered conspiratorially, edging closer and dropping into the water as she pointed toward Ellana's breasts. "Do they leak?"

Immediately blushing, Ellana sat up and wrapped one arm over her breasts. "I think bath time's over now, Sera."

"What?" the blonde asked, grinning so wide Ellana was sure she could see the archer's every tooth. "I really wanna know, honest. I won't tell, promise."

Ellana frowned, cheeks still afire. "The last time you promised not to tell anyone something I wanted kept secret the whole winter palace knew the very next day."

Sera scoffed. "What you on about? What'd I do?"

Glaring, Ellana said, "You told everyone I was pregnant at the Exalted Council."

"No I didn't," Sera said at once, nose wrinkling as if Ellana had genuinely insulted her. "I only told Iron Bull." Pausing a moment, her brow furrowed as she considered. "Oh, right, and Rainier. And Widdle." She winced then and giggled nervously. "Oh, and the barkeep in the tavern. And the server grabbing glasses."

"And everyone, really," Dorian quipped from the shore. "Long story short, Ellana was right. Now, if you ladies don't mind, I'd like to get back to camp before that ram meat spoils or Abelas tries to season it, since they're basically the same thing." He clucked his tongue. "That elf must have been named _sorrow_ because anyone eating a meal he prepared spent the whole affair sobbing from the onion fumes. Or maybe it was the foul taste, I can never be sure."

Sera laughed. "Both, probably. Elfy-elves can't cook."

"Solas could," Ellana blurted before she could stop herself, then winced at the reminder of how much she'd been missing him. During their earliest excursions into the wilds for the Inquisition, Ellana had first begun to bond with Solas because he shared so many of the same useful skills as she and her clan—hunting, butchering, tanning, mending clothing, making and breaking camp, and foraging. He was so _useful_ ; he reminded her of home. They'd flirted while skinning hares, sneaking covert glances and "accidental" touches while cooking. Sera had been so clumsy butchering the august ram today because she'd been able to avoid such work because Ellana and Solas typically volunteered for it at their campsites if Inquisition scouts weren't available.

"Oh no," Sera growled. "Not him again. Frigging droopy ears. You know the rules, Lana."

"She's right," Dorian said, but in a gentler tone. "You're just going to hurt yourself, so stop it. There _is_ no Solas, only that wolf-obsessed filth _Fen'Harel."_

She opened her mouth to refute Dorian and then snapped it shut again, too tired to argue what she knew to be true: Solas was every bit as real as Fen'Harel. Dorian was right, however, that she was only hurting herself thinking of him. Everyone with her had counseled her to distance herself from Solas in every way possible. He'd made his bed in Halamshiral, declaring all of human-ruled Thedas his enemy and drawing their wrath to elves everywhere. Their thinking was that, for the good of the elven people and everyone else in Thedas, Ellana should rise to oppose Solas politically. She was the one person who could bridge the gap between the many disparate peoples, nations, and organizations because all of them knew what she'd done for Thedas as Inquisitor.

But that'd have to come _after_ she'd given birth…except it seemed just as unreachable a goal to Ellana regardless of whether she was pregnant or not, child or not. She just wanted all of it to disappear, to let her retire to her clan and her family, with no concerns larger than keeping them safe and healthy. How could she bear the weight of Thedas, of both the People and all the other races _again_ while also trying to raise her child alone?

_Alone._

And suddenly she was crying, big fat tears slipping from her eyes as she sucked in a shaking, wet breath. She tried to strangle the sobs, covering her face and gnashing her teeth together, but it was no use. The pressure inside her, the hot pain like a burning blade embedded in her chest, seemed as ready to burst as her overripe belly.

"Oh no," Sera said, sounding mildly panicked. "Andraste's tits, look what you did, Dorian."

"I didn't do anything," he protested, throwing both hands up but still not turning round. "But it's definitely time for this bath to be over. Chop-chop now. Out with you both!"

"Bah," Sera grumbled and grabbed at Ellana's forearm, tugging on her. "Up, you. Stop crying. Everything's okay, yeah? Will be okay. I'm sorry I put holes in the damned ram skin. Didn't mean to."

Ellana clung to Sera, letting the other elf help her up as she struggled to contain her tears and sobbing, face flushing with humiliation at her weakness. They grabbed their clothes from the shore nearby and stepped out to dress behind some thick brush. Dorian pivoted again to ensure he couldn't see them and began humming and murmuring something in Tevene. Ellana focused on that as she slid on her breeches, surcoat, and what little chainmail would still fit her. Despite the bloodstains on it, Ellana donned her coat as well to ward off the slight chill in the evening air. By the time they'd finished she'd managed to catch her breath and calm herself enough that Dorian's look of worried sympathy didn't make her burst into tears again.

"Sera's right, love," he told her with a soft smile. "Everything's going to be alright. Soon you won't have a moment of peace or quiet. It'll be all wet nappies and baby vomit."

She sighed. "I have to find a bush again," she said. All of them knew what that meant.

"Go on then," Dorian said with a shooing motion. "We promise not to laugh if we hear you tinkle."

"But no crying," Sera admonished with a frown. "None of that. Piss breaks is just that: pissing. Not crying."

"How charming a reminder, Sera," Dorian muttered, shooting her a glare as Ellana felt her cheeks flush with heat. She left, only walking away a few paces to do her business, far passed most of her embarrassment over such things.

When she'd finished they began the short walk back to the pavilion ruins where they'd setup camp near the now inactivated eluvian. Much to Dorian's displeasure they found Abelas had in fact taken the liberty of beginning dinner, roasting the ram's carcass over the large bonfire they'd made at one end of the clearing. Rainier sat on the ruined, jumbled steps of the pavilion, running a whetstone over his blade in preparation for his watch come sundown.

"Pleasant bath, ladies?" he asked with a smirk as the three of them approached.

"Frigging cold is what it was," Sera whined with a shudder. "I'll be by the fire. Some jungle this place is, all cold, all raining, all the time."

Dorian scowled as he tilted his head back, gazing at the sky while stroking his mustache. "It does look a bit gloomy up there. Springtime rains, I should think." He put on a false smile, all sugar and feigned-cheer. "How delightful! Now we can all be wet and soggy together when the fire goes out. I just _adore_ nature."

"At least the pavilion roof is still mostly intact," Rainier said, grunting as he rose to his feet. "You can shelter underneath it while I stand out in the rain and keep watch." They'd adopted a nightly pattern that Rainier took first watch, Abelas second, and then Sera or Dorian last. Ellana had argued early on that she should have a watch, considering the pregnancy and less than ideal sleeping conditions made it difficult for her to get much rest as it was, but the others insisted otherwise.

"Then at least we know you won't nod off," Dorian grumbled with a sniff.

"I think it's Sera you're thinking of there," Rainier said with a laugh.

"What?" the girl asked with a note of defensiveness. "Did not, you hairy codger."

Tired of their bickering, Ellana moved to sit beside the bonfire, which Abelas tended, staring into it as though his will alone was what made the flames burn. Occasionally he reached out and turned the ram meat on its spit. Fat dripped from the meat as it cooked, sizzling. Though the scent made her mouth water, Ellana's stomach was too tight to feel hungry and had been that way for several days.

"You look careworn, lethallan," Abelas told her, speaking softly. "Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected," she answered and, for the sake of convincing him, Ellana forced a small smile onto her lips.

Abelas shifted, turning to face her as he knelt, grabbing the foraging basket Ellana had woven on their second day from the thick, flat grass stems growing about the clearing. After a moment rooting through it, he produced a bizarre fruit, oval shaped and yellow with five lobes arranged in a circular pattern. "I found this while foraging earlier," he said, passing it to her.

Ellana scowled, perplexed by the foreign fruit. It had a waxy but otherwise smooth skin. She brushed it with her thumb and turned it to look lengthways down it to see the five lobes formed a star shape. "I've never seen a fruit like this before."

Chuckling, Abelas said, "It is a star fruit. This one is ripe and should be sweet to the taste."

"How do I eat it?" she asked, pinching the flesh between thumb and forefinger. "Does it need to be skinned?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "The skin is edible. Though, if you prefer, I can shave it away."

"What's this?" Dorian asked, stomping over to them with a heavy tread, arms crossed over his chest. "Shave what, exactly? That rat nest you call hair?"

Abelas glared at Dorian, upper lip curling with disdain. Over the past week the two mages had been at one another's throats with distrust. Usually it was Dorian who picked the fights, seemingly for no better reason than boredom, though Ellana suspected it was more out of some overprotective "big-brother" syndrome. A few times during their childhood and adolescence, Mahanon had been unduly grouchy with Lerand or one of the other boys from their clan for similar reasons—because he thought he was protecting Ellana from them.

In this case Dorian's comment was wholly unjustified. Under his gray hood Abelas had pale white-blond hair he kept in a tight, neat braid. Ellana had seen him grooming it in the mornings, re-braiding and then re-securing the leather bands he used to keep it tied back.

"Cut it out, Dorian," she scolded, frowning her disapproval at him.

"What is that?" Dorian asked, seeing the fruit and ignoring her chastising. "Star fruit? Really? I thought we only had these in Tevinter."

"Clearly your knowledge of the world is without parallel," Abelas snarled.

"As opposed to someone like you who spent eons asleep?" Dorian quipped, arching his brow. "Tell me, do you even know what direction the Imperium is in?"

Abelas flashed him a humorless smile, all gritted teeth and clenched jaw. "Do you? You could not find your way out of a dream let alone the Arbor Wilds."

"Why you—"

"Dorian," Ellana yelled, slapping his leg, which was just in reach from her spot. He flinched back from her, scoffing as if offended. "I said stop. There's no need for you to antagonize Abelas."

"Fine," he growled, arms crossed over his chest as he fell silent.

The crackle of the fire, sizzling occasionally as grease fell into it, filled the air. The sound reminded Ellana of the countless camps they'd made when she was Inquisitor or Herald before then, and again she recalled Solas. Feeling the weight of grief as well as the slow churn of frustration and anger at the current mess she was in, Ellana panned through her mind desperately for a distraction. Seeing Abelas reach out to turn the spit of meat over the fire, she said, "Tell me about yourself, about life in Elvhenan."

Abelas turned his head, staring at her with his golden eyes narrowed for a moment. "There is not much to tell," he said after a moment.

"Oh, really?" Dorian asked sarcastically.

"Dorian," Ellana warned, glaring at him over her shoulder. "Shut up."

"I know, I know," he returned, motioning at her with both palms held out in a nonverbal _stop_ command. "But seriously, there must be some kind of book for all these _Elvhen_ elves. A big book of insufferably cagey, elusive answers so they can get by without ever talking about themselves. _Ever._ All the better to lie, constantly. What, is that the wind? Is a storm coming on? No, my mistake, it's just all the hot air blowing out of our resident _Elvhen_ 's mouth."

Abelas frowned. "I assume you mean to say that Fen'Harel had the same answer as I when asked about his past."

"How clever of you to puzzle it out," Dorian snarled. "Because that's _exactly_ what I'm saying. And he said _exactly_ that same thing to us. And it was all lies." He gestured toward Ellana. "I don't think even _she_ knows anything about him."

Ellana opened her mouth to refute his comment and then shut it again, heaving a short, angry sigh. "Enough, Dorian. I was just trying to make conversation."

"My apologies, lethallan," Abelas said, dipping his head to her. "I did not mean to put you at a distance. I merely wished to avoid discussing what would prove to be a disheartening tale."

"What's one more story?" Ellana said, smiling humorlessly. "At least yours isn't set in modern Thedas." She rubbed at her belly, feeling the baby squirm. "I just…I need a distraction."

"I could tell you a story," Dorian offered, plopping on the ground beside her and settling his staff against his shoulder. "And _mine_ wouldn't be disheartening."

She offered him a wan smile. "This isn't a competition, Dorian. There's plenty of time for your story _and_ Abelas' story." With an encouraging motion using the hand that still held the star fruit, Ellana said, "Tell me your disheartening story, Abelas. What made you so sad you named yourself _Sorrow?"_

Abelas sighed, but his golden eyes were warm as he stared at her. "On one condition, lethallan."

"Which is?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He pointed to the star fruit. "You eat as I talk."

"Well," Dorian said, shifting in the grass. "That I can agree with." His words held a note of begrudging approval.

Ellana rolled her eyes. "Fine, but you both are worse than—" _Solas._ She stopped, cutting herself off before she could speak his name. "Worse than my mother," she finished, trying to ignore the way her voice caught. Taking a decisive bite into one of the lobes of the star fruit, she stared at Abelas as she chewed, expectantly.

Nodding, Abelas reached for the spit, turning it again as he said, "Elvhenan had a rigid class system based not on currency or inheritance as in this world, but in magic." He repeated the same rough details Ellana had heard from Solas: that Elvhenan used magic for everything and its people were valued only for how much they could do with it. The most powerful Dreamers ruled in the upper classes, and at the very top the Evanuris presided.

"I was born to the middle class," Abelas explained, his tone even and deadpan. "As most were. The upper classes had few children, for fear they would lack enough talent to remain there. I was…found to possess more talent than befitted a member of the middle class. I was born in Mythal's lands, so I entered the upper-middle classes of her court."

 _A bit like Solas,_ Ellana thought, biting her lips to keep from speaking it aloud. Instead she asked, "How 'upper class' were you? Are you a Dreamer?"

Abelas stared at the spit of meat, his expression inscrutable. "I possess some talent for shaping the Fade, yes. But I lack the ability with the Veil in place." Clasping his hands at about waist level in front of himself, Abelas squared his shoulders, jaw clenching as he went on. "I was taken from my home later than most. My talents were delayed in their emergence, so it was unavoidable. Because I was older, nearly adult in fact, the transition was quite jarring and I left behind many who'd grown dear to me in my home city. I was not pleased to be taken. The noble I served..." He broke off, shooting Ellana a troubled look. "The true upper class nobles were called _Keepers._ "

Ellana's eyes widened at that, but she stayed silent. Dorian grunted. "Interesting, but if you start going on about how backwards the Dalish are, I'm afraid I'm going to have to hit you. But do go on, this is utterly fascinating to hear how truly _enlightened_ the Elvhenan Empire really was from someone who wasn't pampered as I'm assuming our favorite bald Evanuris must have been."

Again Ellana stayed silent, quashing anything she might've said that'd reveal what Solas had told her of his background. Yet, she saw Abelas scowl at Dorian, not with the insult to Elvhenan, but with something akin to confusion, as if he found Dorian's comment to be nonsensical.

"Go on, Abelas," she prompted him, smiling encouragingly.

"My Keeper was a far more powerful Dreamer than I and tasked those serving him with upkeep of his territory and creation of great works for Mythal's pleasure."

"You were upper class and you performed _manual labor?"_ Dorian asked, sounding incredulous.

Abelas frowned. "I was upper _middle_ class, to be more precise. But your confusion is why it is difficult to discuss my past, as I'm certain was the case for Fen'Harel as well. The Veil altered the world so greatly that I must explain myself in a way I am unaccustomed to doing, or lack the words for." His shoulders slumped and he fell silent a moment, contemplating. "We did not perform manual labor. The work was through magic. We willed the Fade to create and it did. There were fifty of us in service to this nobleman, and our combined will and magic repaired walls, constructed new homes, tailored and maintained constructs like the Elvhen library and the Crossroads."

"So I take it the slaves did the manual labor?" Dorian asked.

"Yes…among many other unpleasant tasks." He fidgeted with the metal armor on his thigh for a beat and then said, "As I was saying, every century we were allowed a season away, to enjoy time to ourselves. At the end of my first break, I chose not to return to my duties. The Keeper sent a legion of arcane warriors to hunt me down. As was the usual punishment for wayward low level Dreamers, I was brought before Mythal for judgment and it was by her order that I entered her temple as a sentinel. In addition, a member of my family was forcibly placed into uthenera."

"Forced into uthenera?" Ellana asked. "That was a punishment?"

Abelas' lips compressed into a hard line. "Yes, and deservedly so. The process is dangerous and can be deadly. Because my sister was still young and needed my mother, my father volunteered." Averting his gaze, Abelas' jaw clenched. "He did not survive."

"I'm sorry," Ellana whispered, feeling her eyes sting with sympathy. She sniffed, trying to fight back the tears. "How could you serve Mythal after that?"

Abelas flashed her a bemused look and then blinked, as if Ellana had just asked something entirely nonsensical. Then, slowly shifting his stance from one foot to another, he said, "I see—you are confused that I could serve the Evanuris who punished me, but you must understand that Mythal's punishment was the gentlest of all the Evanuris. Had I been brought before Elgar'nan or Falon'Din my entire family would have been executed, not placed into forced uthenera. In addition, I would have been killed after witnessing their deaths. You must also remember that the fault was mine. I knew what could happen if I neglected my duties, but I did so nonetheless. Mythal was not responsible for my father's death. _I_ was responsible."

In the silence that followed, Abelas hung his head.

"That's awful," Ellana said, still fighting the lump of sympathetic pain in her throat. She recalled Solas telling her once that he'd kept his parents a secret from everyone because the Evanuris punished families rather than individuals.

Dorian clucked his tongue unhappily. "You're a glutton for punishment, love. Must we continue hearing this?" He shot Abelas a regretful look. "I apologize for my earlier rudeness and for interrupting you, but really, the old girl doesn't need another sob story. Isn't there something _funny_ you can tell her?"

"Actually, yes," Abelas said, smiling wryly. "I chose my name when I entered service to Mythal as a sentinel because the name I was given at birth seemed highly inappropriate, given the circumstances."

"I don't see the joke there," Dorian groused.

Abelas didn't look at him, instead he stared at Ellana and said, "My given name was Nirast."

The name meant _inclined towards joy._ Ellana let out a short, sharp laugh before shaking her head and closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, Abelas. That's almost as depressing as what Solas…" She clapped a hand over her lips, cutting off the words. A heartbeat later she sighed and let her hand fall away. "Fenedhis. Never mind. Dorian's right. We should be sharing happy stories."

"Of course I'm right," Dorian quipped, twining his mustache. "Now, many apologies for all you've suffered, Abelas, but I'm going to show you how to make Ellana truly laugh." He clapped his hands, eyes glittering as he gazed at her in the fading light of the day. "Have I ever told you about the time I caught Madame Vivienne breaking wind while in the library?"

Immediately Ellana laughed. "No, no you haven't."

"Well," Dorian said with a grin. "That was simply unforgivable on my part. Allow me to rectify it…"

* * *

On the seventh night since Ellana had left him and disappeared, Solas retired later than usual, heavy with exhaustion from the long day managing the People's takeover of Halamshiral and the winter palace. He entered the Fade still considering the surprising progress he'd made with Celene and Briala, who'd begun to see they had no choice but to work with him as their current reality as prisoners wasn't just a bad dream.

When he opened his eyes in the Fade he saw at once the same meadow and forest from around Wycome and felt his shoulders slump with defeat. The Fade always reacted this way now, showing him this place where he and Ellana had been happy, where he had spoken to her Keeper about clan Lavellan's bonding ceremony traditions and requested her help in making a betrothal gift.

It seemed hopeless to try, but Solas was nothing if not tenacious, so he closed his eyes and willed Ellana to him. He envisioned her smile and laugh, the sound of her voice as she spoke his name, the courage she'd shown as she stood up to Corypheus at Haven, and the compassion as she hunted rams in the hills outside Redcliffe for the refuges in the Hinterlands. Idle thoughts snuck into his unfocused mind as well—the throaty noise of her cries as they made love, the taste of her skin and lips, and the fluttery kick of their child against his palm.

And suddenly Solas felt his body go weightless. He opened his eyes and then blinked rapidly, confused as he saw complete darkness around him. When he stretched he felt slick walls restraining him. The darkness was warm and emanated comfort.

_What in the void…?_

Was this the work of a demon? Yet Solas' skin wasn't prickling with gooseflesh and the Fade felt…innocent and quiet. This was a sleeper's dream the Fade had taken him into, but Solas had never slipped into such a bizarre scene.

He considered wiling it away, shattering the scene and leaving it, but he hesitated. Not only was it a curious, foreign construct, but the comfort and peace it exuded left his muscles lax and his mind soft as he released some of the constant tension riding him. It was as relaxing as anything he could've crafted for his own enjoyment, yet simpler and—

He heard it then and froze, concentrating. It was the muffled thumping of a drum somewhere below him and yet also above. It seemed to surround him, directionless and constant and comforting. A closer beat pounded as well, hammering away at a much faster rate, but also muffled. It was as if he heard the sounds through water…like a…

_Like…heartbeats._

Eyes springing open, he stared out at the nothingness of the dark, stretching to test the slick walls again to confirm what he already knew in his gut. This was his _child's_ dream. His unborn child was dreaming of the womb. Solas' unfocused mind had summoned the baby's sleeping consciousness through the Fade when he'd thought of its kicks against his hand.

Waves of warm relief crashed over him and hot tears pricked his eyes. Pain ached in his throat as he said, "Eshalin." He sucked in a shaky breath, swallowing the sobs that threatened to escape his lips. "Ma eshalin." _My child._

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Now even Abelas and Rainier had turned to watch her reaction, while Solas simply stared at her, his expression warped with pain as he waited. She sucked in a shaky breath as tears pricked her eyes. "Will you walk with me so we can talk alone?" she asked.

Dorian let out a little huffing sigh but both Ellana and Solas ignored him, blind to the people around them.

"Yes," Solas answered in a raw voice as he swallowed, his throat bobbing again. He smiled wanly. "Nothing would make me happier."


	42. Bringer of Nappies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas goes after Ellana.

"We should kill the bitch—regardless of whether she agrees to sign the treaty," Zevanni said, slashing the air with a sideways cut of her hand. Her brown eyes were fierce, full of heat and quiet rage as she stared at Solas. "You know as well as I how much a piece of paper or an oath of allegiance will mean once she's with her people again."

The empress had agreed to relinquish Orlais' hold on the Dales that afternoon, but on two conditions. The first was that she be released unharmed to Orlais. The second was that Briala would remain the de facto ruler of the Dales. Solas intended to whittle that second condition down until Briala was mainly in charge of Halamshiral and a liaison to the Orlesian court. In essence, Briala could rule in name but Solas planned to be the one pulling the strings and commanding the People's armies.

Solas' fingers twitched where he had his hands clasped behind his back, considering Zevanni's words with a grave expression pinching his face. It was true, he didn't expect Celene to honor any treaties she signed or promises she made while his prisoner. As soon as she and Briala were away, assuming Solas chose to spare their lives, they'd renounce their own actions and go to war to retake the Dales for Orlais.

Lyris was frowning where she stood off to Solas' far right, beside Mathrel as always. He arched an eyebrow at her. "You have something to add, falon?"

"Celene is a known entity," she said, echoing sentiments Ellana had shared previously. The reminder squeezed at his heart with pain, but he pushed it aside with his iron will, refusing to be distracted by personal loss at this moment. "We know her tendencies, her past, and her weaknesses." Lyris' pale blue eyes pinched at the outside corners and her lips twisted downward. "Celene views her alliance with the Inquisition as vital to her survival and success. If Lady Lavellan will not aid us, perhaps she has returned to them, or can be convinced to rejoin them and advocate for us. We could—"

"The ex-Inquisitor isn't with the Inquisition or the Divine," Zevanni snapped with a vehement shake of her head. "She's betrayed us and left us vulnerable." Her glare at Lyris brimmed with outrage, but softened when she glanced at him. "Ir abelas," she muttered at him, gruff despite the sympathy in her features.

Ignoring their comments about Ellana, Solas swallowed once to fight down the ache of anxiety and loss before it bloomed into something bigger—despair—that he wouldn't be able to crush before the others saw it. He nodded to Lyris. "Your concerns are valid and I share them. Celene is militarily weaker than some of her potential replacements. We have no power over who may take the throne in the event of her death."

"Don't we?" Zevanni asked sharply, cocking her head and flashing a hard smile. "There are plenty of elves in Orlais. Give me the order and I will make them ours. We can wreak havoc in Orlais just as we have in the Imperium."

"You had unwitting help in that task from the Qunari," Solas reminded her. "Orlais is far more stable than Tevinter."

"Then we should _take_ it," Zevanni insisted, volume rising with her passion. "The Divine is in Val Royeaux, as is the Inquisition. They're sitting around plotting an Exalted March as we speak. You _know_ they are."

As she spoke, Solas pivoted on his heel and strode to the window behind what had once been Cassandra's enormous red-tinted wood desk. The Chantry's sunburst had been engraved and painted over the glass windowpanes. Solas restrained the desire to touch it idly and tried not to think of it as the brand on Tranquil mages' foreheads. He knew Cassandra of all people would seek not to abuse the Rite, but if she could have caught and contained him long enough, would she have used it on him? What did he really _know_ about the Divine? Would she raze Halamshiral, the winter palace, and the Dales in a quest to end him the way the Inquisition had worked so hard to stop Corypheus?

"We cannot take Orlais," Solas told her, blank and impassive.

"We could if we restored the Fade," Zevanni insisted.

Solas clenched his jaw. "Have you forgotten we lack the Anchor?" he asked, growling. It was raining outside, a dull and dreary day with a gray sky. In the courtyard beyond the glass Solas could see scorch marks in the gardens and a shattered decorative pot. The plant it'd sheltered had toppled over and now lay on the grass, its yellow blossoms withering into brown as it slowly died.

It was a perfect visual analogy for the People's glacial extinction without the Fade.

"Then make a new one, Fen'Harel," Zevanni said, striding to his side and gripping his bicep. "I have the foci. Use its power to remake it and wear the Anchor yourself."

Solas shot her a sidelong glare. "It took me half a century to forge the Anchor," he said, quiet and deep, but sharp with rebuke. "We do not have the luxury of such time in this shem world."

Zevanni's face twisted with frustration as she squeezed his bicep, giving it a little jerk. "Then we must find Lavellan and drag her ass back here."

Now Solas lost his temper, ripping his arm out of Zevanni's grasp and whipping around to face her, looming over her with his superior height as he glowered. "You think I have not been _scouring_ the Fade for her?" he demanded, hands clenching at his sides as he wrestled with the fury boiling his blood. "You think I have not sent _every_ agent I can spare out to search Thedas for her?"

Zevanni withdrew a few steps, lips pinched tight and brow furrowed. After a moment of tense silence she bowed her head. "Forgive me, Fen'Harel. I let my frustration speak and foolishness came out."

"She will return to her clan when her time comes," Mathrel said, speaking for the first time. Solas saw the arcane warrior exchange looks with Lyris, silently conferring before he added, "Childbirth is not an experience to be done in solitude."

"She is not alone, I suspect," Solas hedged, stiff and curt. "But we have drifted from the subject at hand."

"You know my opinion," Zevanni murmured, some of the heat having left her at Solas' criticism. "Killing the empress leaves Orlais in chaos. I believe it would be enough that we could topple the entire country with further rebellion. We may never need to march on it or take it in anything but rebellion, just as we have with Halamshiral."

"I disagree," Lyris said. "We must choose caution and compassion. The Divine was open to negotiation, as was the Inquisition. Their leaders are both sympathetic to the plight of the People. It is vital we conduct ourselves with propriety, regardless of whether Celene honors her accords with us. We must remind the world that our actions here were done in desperation when Celene used the peace talks to try assassinating Fen'Harel and Lady Lavellan—both of whom were part of the Inquisition when it gave Celene her throne in the first place."

Mathrel grunted. "No chaos in Orlais. No killing the empress. We fight only to defend what we have already taken." He nodded. "Until we find Lady Lavellan there is no other sensible course of action."

"She is our shield against the rest of Thedas," Lyris commented, then smirked slightly. "A bit of a human-apologist, I'm afraid, but she is a powerful figurehead."

Solas closed his eyes, feeling his shoulders slump with defeat and the heavy weight of despair pulling on him. _She is the new Mythal for this age of Tranquil,_ he thought. Yet she was guileless, beautiful for her aversion and dislike of the Game, for her rejection of carnage and chaos. For many years Solas had been a general for Mythal in Elvhenan, content to be serving the best of the Evanuris before he'd been unmasked as being one of them, equal in strength. Serving Ellana had felt similarly _right,_ except _he_ had been the one manipulating her, rather than the other way around as it was with Mythal.

The need to see her rose in him like a wave, pressing a fist to his heart and sending it lurching painfully into his throat. He swallowed, frowning as he wrestled down the emotions, though he couldn't stop the shaking in his hands or the heat he felt blooming in his cheeks all the way to his ear points.

"We will take the path of caution," Solas announced with a firm nod, glancing quickly at the three other elves before staring at the red-tinted wood desk of the Divine. He rested his fingertips on it, feeling the smoothness of the grain. "In an hour I will meet again with Celene and Briala and agree to their terms. Then we will immediately furnish her with a contingent of Orlesian guards, Templars, or Inquisition soldiers—anyone in the dungeons who chose to surrender."

Zevanni sighed, scowling with disapproval and Solas shot her a quick glare. "You have something to add?"

She shook her head in the negative, the wisps of brown hair slipping from her tight topknot bun flopping against her cheekbones. "You already know my thoughts on this. There is no need to repeat them."

"Then do not try my patience," Solas snapped at her. He thumped his fingertips against the desk, refocusing his thoughts as he gazed at Lyris and Mathrel instead, trying to imagine Ellana in the room as well and what she would do or say or think…

"I will draft a letter and send a raven to Val Royeaux," he said, the sudden conviction made his words crisp and sharp. "I will play the 'human-apologist' if it will dissuade or delay an Exalted March."

"And if Orlais marches on us once the empress has returned to them?" Zevanni asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Solas heaved a sigh. "I am considering that possibility," he said, dodging the question, though poorly. They didn't have the numbers to fight any human force directly without the power of the Fade behind them—without _Solas_ at full strength. Unless Ellana returned with the Anchor they'd have to retreat or be routed.

Before Zevanni could try and challenge him further, Solas dismissed them. Turning to the window again and tucking his hands behind his back, he listened to the tapping of the rain on the glass and the sill outside as Lyris and Mathrel marched out. But Zevanni lingered around the far side of the desk, having retreated only a few steps toward the door before stopping. After several long beats of silence, Solas asked, "You wished to add something in private?"

"Yes," Zevanni muttered, voice low.

"Then speak," Solas told her, still not turning to regard her. "I have much to do in the next hour." It wasn't a lie—he intended to nap, and for him that was a vital part of his job description. He planned to quickly search the Fade during the day for some trace of Ellana or those with her, in case they'd adapted sleeping scheduled to avoid him at night.

And if that failed, which he expected it would, he would try to find his child. He'd spent most of the previous night with the child, sharing its dream and taking comfort in it. As long as the child dreamt of the womb and had no concept of light or shape or sound without the muffling effect of water, he knew it remained unborn. He held onto a faint hope that when labor struck Ellana she would send for him. As upset as she'd been, she'd know he'd want to be present. The thought of missing the birth, of Ellana cutting him off so completely that she'd deny him any knowledge or contact with his own child…it made his stomach clench and his chest constrict with the cold, strangling grip of dread. At least in the Fade he could touch the child's mind, communicate with it someday, perhaps.

"You're distracted," Zevanni said, her tone soft but the words were clipped. "You're thinking about Lavellan when you should be focused on the People."

"I assume you have a point to this other than expressing your disapproval and wasting my time?" Solas snapped, whipping around to glower at her, teeth gnashing behind pinched lips.

She stared at him without wincing from his anger, her eyes flicking over him and her mouth quirking at the corners up and then down. "You are older than me, hahren, but I wonder at how you'd let one shem-elf woman bring you low. In your wisdom, I would expect you to already know these shem-elves will never think like us—but I see that isn't the case. Lavellan has left you, ended your relationship. The shem-elves do not _feel_ as we Elvhen do. You imagine centuries with her, but she acts with the speed of a rodent because she knows death will find her quickly and she cannot waste a moment of it. You cannot afford to do the same while you exist in the shem-world. You must stop thinking like an Elvhen and—"

"It is _you_ , Zevanni, who do not understand the shem-elves," Solas spat, glaring at her.

Zevanni shook her head. "You do not wish to believe it, but it is clear to me. I have seen it in the rebels I command in Tevinter. Their passion burns as hot as the sun, but it is snuffed out quickly. They are sparks while we are the long-burning embers. Three years at her side to you is nothing but a taste of the appetizer. Yet for her it was enough that she has had her fill and moved on."

"Leave me," Solas snarled. "I've heard enough of your prattle."

Zevanni thrust out her chin, eyes dark with defiance. "I am merely counseling you to prepare yourself, Fen'Harel. You cannot allow yourself to fail due to such a temporary distraction. There's no shortage of women you can take to bed."

"I've heard enough," he growled, hands clenching into fists as his blood roared with rage inside his ears. "Leave me."

She was silent for a moment, nostrils flaring as she breathed. Then she dipped her head. "Fen'Harel enansal," she said and pivoted around on one heel, stomping out the door.

Solas heard the thump of her steps as she passed down the hallway and then, snarling to himself, he slammed the door shut with a focused mindblast. The explosion of focused spirit energy made the wood of the door crack and splinter. The boom echoed through the room, rattling shelves and knocking over a marble statue of Andraste near the bed. It crashed to the floor, cracking into pieces.

Breathing hard for several long moments, Solas willed himself to relax. He pushed Zevanni's comments from his mind, recalling Mathrel and Lyris' words instead that Ellana would return to her clan for the birth. She had to—and when she did, Solas would know.

Considering the child once more, Solas strode to the Divine's bed. He settled on it over the undisturbed, made up bedspread, uncaring that he could still faintly smell the fragrance of whatever oils and soaps Cassandra had last used rising up from the pillow. Closing his eyes, he willed himself into the Fade. It wouldn't be restful at all as he was too upset and angry to actually sleep, but he was so attuned and connected to the Fade—and had been for ages, literally—that he could will himself there while just quietly dozing.

Unlike the previous night, where the Fade had greeted him with the meadow scene, Solas now opened his eyes and immediately found himself in the comforting, weightless darkness. There was a salty taste in his mouth, tangy but not wholly unpleasant. He heard the dual heartbeats, one fast and the other slow, both steady and strong, but muffled as if through water.

Then the slick, smooth walls flexed, compressing around him, battening down tight. For the first time since uncovering this dream, Solas felt something other than comfort flow through the darkness—alarm. Solas' own body tensed, muscles snapping taut and fighting the press of the slick walls of the dream around him. Was this another false labor pang or was it the real thing? The cadence of both heartbeats changed: one slowing and the other picking up.

And then he heard the voices begin, muffled but still comprehensible, and he recognized the loudest of them with ease—it was Ellana.

* * *

In the middle of grinding down a bit of dried herbs, a cramp seized Ellana's belly. She stopped the work, hissing between clenched teeth and releasing the flat-bottomed stone she'd been using as a pestle to grab at her navel. Rain splattered from the eaves outside the pavilion, pouring from the heavens in a musical torrent of pattering and dripping water sounds. She rocked to and fro, trying to ignore the way the cramp also tightened her bladder, threatening to make her lose control.

"Dorian," she called to him through her gritted teeth. "I need your help…"

He looked up from his spot across the pavilion where he'd been rewrapping his staff's grip and took in her posture and strained voice as his jaw fell open and his eyes widened. He sprang to his feet and crossed the pavilion in a few quick steps, avoiding the leaky place in the middle where the roof had cracked enough to allow rainwater in. "Lana? Are you alright?"

"I've…been better," she ground out through the pain. With an effort she forced herself to breathe through the cramp as it crested. Dorian settled at her side, pushing away the rocks she'd been using to grind the dream-blocking herbs. Watching him sit, Ellana fumbled for his hand and held onto it in a death grip.

"Ow," he complained, wincing though he didn't try to pull away. "Careful you don't break my fingers, old girl. I'm rather attached to them."

She pulled on his hand, bringing it to her belly. "Solas used to help. With magic."

"I should be able to manage that," he said, smiling tenderly at her before his brow furrowed with concentration and she felt magic tingle over her. It wasn't as relaxing as Solas' magic had been, though it carried the same cooling sensation and made her sigh with relief.

"Thank you," she said. "It's been a while since I had one of those pangs."

"Could it be the real thing?" Dorian asked her, a note of concern lacing his voice. "If it is we'll need to send Abelas through the mirror at once." He snorted as he withdrew his hand and tweaked his mustache. "Somehow I doubt Sera would be much of a midwife and really, the only thing Thom and I are good for would be moral support. And, of course, my magic."

"Time will tell," Ellana said, letting out a long breath. Her shoulders slumped and she sagged forward, giving into the desire to seek comfort from Dorian by leaning her head against his shoulder. "But I think it's still a little early yet. He's still growing."

"Well, I don't see how _he_ can get much bigger," Dorian said with a sniff. "Let's just hope _he_ isn't as much of a royal pain as his father."

Tears stung her eyes immediately at yet another reminder of Solas and she sucked in a quavering breath. "Please, I can't bear to think of—"

Dorian shushed her, wrapped his arms around her and rocking her like a child. "I'm sorry, love. I broke my own rule." He stroked her hair for a beat before pulling back, his hands on her shoulders as he stared into her eyes with a meek smile. "Let's talk about something fun, yes? Have you considered what you're going to call the babe when it's born?" He grinned, suddenly beaming. "You could name it after me. In fact, you should."

She laughed, sniffing as she flicked her tears away. "And what if it's a girl?"

"Well," he said, flashing an even wider grin. "Then I win the wager with Varric and earn twenty royals, of course. But regardless, Dorian could be a girl's name too. Why not? Especially an elven girl! People would just assume it holds some other exotic meaning in elven."

Swallowing as the lump in her throat ached with the continued reminder of Solas, Ellana croaked out the name they'd discussed at the winter palace. "Sylvun. The baby kicked when I suggested that name."

Dorian's eyes flicked over her face, reading her sorrow. "You don't look happy about that name. I take it there's more to the story than the baby choosing it."

She nodded, letting out a brittle, wet laugh. Rubbing her belly affectionately, Ellana said, "It was the baby's grandfather's name."

"Your father?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow. "Or…?"

"Not my father," she said, choking.

Dorian stroked his mustache idly, his lips quirking and his eyes glinting with interest. "So the bastard didn't just spring from the Fade after all?" At her frown he grunted. "But off topic. My vote is still for Dorian, of course. Or you could always name it after you. Ellana junior. And if it's a boy, how about Ellan? Yes?"

She shook her head. "I'm not arrogant enough to name him after me." Staring out at the rain and the puddles in the grass beyond the pavilion, Ellana shrugged. "My father always used to say he was named after a river his clan was camped beside."

"And what was his name?" Dorian asked.

"Fehorn, but I don't want to use his name for my baby. I want my brother to have that honor. They were closest and Mahanon was the one who was there for my clan when Father died, when the bandits attacked." She chewed her lip, watching the sheet of rain pouring from the eaves and admiring the foliage of the forest beyond the small clearing. "I could name him Arbor," she mused. "For the Arbor Wilds."

Dorian shrugged, patting her shoulder. "Delightful! Just don't tell him—or _her—_ you named it after this muggy, bug-infested, rain-plagued cesspool. Say you just heard it one day and liked the sound of it."

Ellana scoffed, slapping Dorian's shoulder playfully. "Really, Dorian. This place isn't so bad."

"Yes, it's not so bad if you like squatting in mud, getting wet, and being chased by great bears." He snapped his fingers. "Oh, and I almost forgot the _charming_ squawking every morning from those gaudy Maker-damned pink pigeon birds. I turned one into ashes the other day I was so infuriated at its incessant screeching."

Ellana laughed. "I think you're just jealous of the birds because they're better dressed than you are."

Dorian spluttered, stammering for a moment at her comment before scoffing. "Have you gone mad, old girl? Better _dressed?_ They have _pink feathers!"_

"You're just jealous because you didn't think of it first," Ellana said, grinning.

* * *

Knuckles rapped on the door to the Divine's room and Solas gasped, sitting upright as his consciousness jerked from the Fade. He blinked several times as his eyes and body readjusted to the waking world, his heart hammering in his chest and squeezing tightly with each beat. The muffled conversation he'd heard through the baby's dreaming mind and its connection to the Fade had told him where Ellana was...

_The Arbor Wilds._

His hands gripped the bedspread as the knock came again. His stomach rolled, lurching into his throat at the realization that he could now find Ellana in just a few hours—but he couldn't leave yet. He had to deal with Celene and Briala first.

And…he had to _prepare._ He had to approach her _right_ if he had any hope of convincing her to join him again in any capacity. Even if Ellana refused to be his lover—or his bondmate—she was too valuable an ally to lose. Lyris and Mathrel had been correct in that a thousands times over and Solas had never doubted it.

He only had to treat her as a true partner, a leader in her own right—an equal, not just the former Inquisitor, or his lover, or the mother of his child. Could he manage that? Panicky flutters moved through him at the question, biting cold with his fear.

The knock came again, louder and more pronounced this time, and Mathrel said, "Fen'Harel?"

Solas scrubbed at his face with both hands, mind spinning as he rose to his feet and strode to answer the door.

* * *

A fog rolled in as the sun set and the rain eased to little more than an occasional sputtering drizzle. Abelas, Rainier, and Sera had returned with hares and birds for supper a few hours previously. Despite ongoing cramps seizing her every so often, Ellana helped butcher the animals and prepare the meat with Rainier, who seemed to be the most familiar with such work beyond herself. Abelas managed it well enough, but he wasn't as comfortable with it as Solas. Abelas' family had apparently been city dwellers in Elvhenan.

Ellana used a knife to sharpen her arrowheads to satisfy her ongoing itch to stay busy as they sat around the smaller fire they'd set up in the pavilion, sheltered from the dampness of the jungle beyond. The ghostly light of fireflies winked on and off out in the gathering darkness outside their camp. The hazy mists looked like phantoms to Ellana, forming eddies and wisps in the gentle wind that occasionally stirred the clearing and made the trees rustle and sigh.

"So the smug bastard looks me up and down," Rainier was saying, spinning the tale of how he'd first met Blackwall. "And his buddies were sizing me up too and they must've thought they could take me if they attacked all at once. So that's what they did. Fortunately for me they all had a few more drinks in them than me, so their timing and balance were all over the map. I decked the first guy in the jaw and right down he went. The next guy was a bigger brute, a real bruiser. He threw a mean punch, but I was too quick so it was just a glancing blow, really."

Working the edge of the knife over the arrowhead, Ellana was only halfway listening to Rainier's tale. She'd heard it before once or twice, as Sera likely had as well, but Dorian claimed he'd not heard it and Abelas of course hadn't. This retelling was for those two as they took turns weaving stories to pass the time while their catch roasted over the fire and the helmet they used as a pot came to a boil for their nightly dream-blocking herbal tea.

As she did every night, Ellana watched the steam rising out of the helmet—it was Rainier's—and considered covertly not drinking it. The false labor pangs that'd hit her earlier in the day and into the evening had left her twitchy with anxiety, flushing hot and then cold as she contemplated her choices, both past and present. Could she really live with herself if she kept Solas from the birth? Had she done the right thing by leaving? Was staying away and opposing Solas the best course of action?

 _My love is unconditional._ She'd told him that more than once. Her hands stilled in her lap, their grip tightening on the knife and the arrowhead. She felt, with sudden keenness, the slight weight missing at her neck where she'd worn the stormheart arrowhead necklace for months only to take it off after arriving here. She'd stowed it in one of the pouches she wore on the belt of her scout armor. The reminder of him was too much then.

"After the last guy went down," Rainier was saying, "I apologized to the serving girl for the trouble those bastards had caused. She wanted to know my name, but I wouldn't give it to her." He chuckled. "You never know who might be listening, after all. Turns out Blackwall was. Listening _and_ watching. He stopped me before I could leave and…" He shrugged. "Well, you know the rest."

Ellana was next in their storytelling circle and she lifted her head, brushing at the flecks of iron from the arrowheads that she'd scraped into her lap—on her belly, actually. Heaving a sigh, she searched her mind for a lighthearted story of clan life. The humans, and even Sera, often enjoyed such tales.

"My mother tells this one, so I don't remember it firsthand. It happened when I was too young. Anyway, my older brother, Mahanon," she said, naming him in case any of them had forgotten meeting the actual man, "is First to our clan. But like everyone else, he had to learn to forage, and that meant our mother had to teach him herb-lore. When he was just five or six, Mahanon started foraging with our mother for edible plants and medicinal herbs. She thought he'd learned well enough that he could be trusted to gather the right ones without much supervision."

"Something tells me she was quite wrong," Dorian said, grinning from her right.

Ellana returned his grin with one of her own. "Have I ever told you that spindleweed apparently looks a lot like rhubarb to a five year old? I'm guessing it's that they both tend to have reddish colored stems."

"Rhubarb?" Abelas asked, arching an eyebrow. "I am unfamiliar with this herb."

"It grows in the Free Marches and around Ferelden, I think," she explained with a shrug. "The stems are edible, if a little tart. But the leaves are poisonous, with a…" She sniggered, covering her lips with one hand. "…laxative effect."

As Dorian, Rainier, and Abelas all reacted with varying levels of laughter and amusement, Sera frowned with confusion. "Lax-what?" Sera asked.

"It makes you shit," Rainier clarified, slapping his knee as he laughed more.

Sera giggled. "It's always that, innit? Best stories always have shite in them."

"I didn't know that about rhubarb," Dorian said after he'd caught his breath. "I've eaten pies with the stems as an ingredient. How intriguing that plants lead such duplicitous lives as harmless food item and poison. The Magisterium would just _love_ it. I assume Mahanon learned his lesson well?"

Now Ellana laughed again, rocking in place as she tried to stifle her amusement long enough to finish the story. "He did, yes, but not before my father suffered the consequences, not Mahanon. He was always irritating my mother by rummaging through her foraging baskets before supper. He was our clan's First then, and he was constantly busy casting with the Keeper and working up quite an appetite. So that evening he popped into the tent while my mother wasn't looking and grabbed what he thought was spindleweed." She grinned. "It wasn't spindleweed."

As the merriment died down and Dorian took a turn storytelling, Ellana saw Abelas use magic to maneuver the steaming helmet turned cooking and teapot clear of the fire to cool. In a few minutes they'd pass it around, sipping the bitter mixture to block their dreams. She returned to her work with the arrows, remembering her clan and its simple beauty: the hunting, the learning, the laughter. There was no Game within the clan and although there was still drama and tension as varying rivalries and animosities sprang up, it was always friendly and companionable. It was nice to pretend, even if it was only temporary, that she was just another Dalish elf.

If Solas found her, all that would change. She just…wasn't ready to face the mess she'd left in the Dales or Halamshiral. Not yet.

So when the helmet "teapot" was passed her way from Rainier, she drank her share as she had each night since they'd arrived in the Arbor Wilds. There'd be no dreams tonight for her or any of them. Another night of peace.

* * *

It was well after nightfall when Solas finally finished dealing with Briala and Celene. The empress had been full to the brim with thinly veiled disdain for him and the Elvhen with him, but she'd signed a declaration proclaiming the Dales as a free and sovereign nation belonging to the elves once more. In return Solas had released a small force of Orlesian guards and nobles from the dungeons to accompany her out of the winter palace and Halamshiral with Briala at her side. He had little doubt they'd ride straight to Val Royeaux and then Orlais would declare the treaty Celene and Briala had signed null and void. Then they'd go to war, of course.

But Solas had little fear of that now that he knew where Ellana was.

Yet there was still much to do before he could go after her. He delineated work for his closest advisors, sending Zevanni to Halamshiral to take stock of the elves and the situation there, while Mathrel organized scouting and training at the winter palace to improve security. Lyris he tasked with seeing what food reserves the palace and the city both had, and made sure she knew he would be gone for a time, trying to find Ellana and bring her back. All three of his advisors knew that if something sudden and urgent came up, Solas would be available in the Fade as he always was and would check on them form there.

Despite the late hour, Solas marched through the palace toward the storage wing where most of the inactive eluvians had been kept. The storage wing had seen only minor fighting in the beginning of the rebellion because the elves who swept through it had encountered little in the way of resistance, yet the area was messier and more heavily damaged than most other spots. Because so few people had been in that area to begin with, it'd been one of the last places the elves put out fires. There was also the spot where Solas had blown out the windows with an accidental spell, close to the eluvian storage room.

Solas ignored the charring on the walls and the wet, humid breeze rolling in through the broken glass in the windows as he moved from room to room, checking over crates containing everything from cookware to linens to candles used only once a year for special religious ceremonies. Gaspard and his sister, Florianne, had grown up in the winter palace, which surely meant children's items had been tucked away _somewhere._

After nearly two hours of searching, Solas finally found a dusty, cobweb-infested room containing crates full of hundreds of nappies, small blankets, onesies, tiny booties, bottles, and toys. They smelled musty with age but were otherwise clean and ready for use. Solas grabbed armfuls of swaddling blankets, nappies, and baby clothes, packing everything that would fit into his traveling bag and then stuffing a few more into the few pockets and pouches he wore on his person.

With that done, he set off for the nearest eluvian storage room. He knew he must look ridiculous, fully armored with his overstuffed traveling bag slung over his shoulders and with baby items stuffed into every pocket like so much padding. And topping it all off, he hadn't bothered removing the black pelt of the wolf headdress. Yet, luckily, he passed no one on his way to the room, so there was no chance for anyone to laugh at him.

He left everything he'd gathered in the storage room beside the inactive eluvian and returned to the guest wing to sleep the night—though it was doubtful he'd actually get any rest. His guts had seemed to tie themselves into knots of anxiousness and anticipation. Lyris had left him bread and cheese from the kitchens, but Solas couldn't tolerate the thought of eating when he was so nervous. Instead he wrapped it in clean towels from his privy, planning to take it with him as he searched through the eluvians the following day.

It would take some trial and error to find whatever eluvian in the Arbor Wilds Ellana had used, but he knew they were camped close to one as he'd heard her discussing it with Dorian. Solas would need to let the magic feel out and connect with every working eluvian in the Arbor Wilds, one at a time. Then he'd have to walk through it to check what was on the other side and, if he found nothing, try again. Whether it was his first or fiftieth try, Solas vowed he would find the right one—and with it, _her_.

When he finally did lie down to sleep, clutching the bow on Ellana's side of the bed as he had all week, the Fade took him with startling quickness. He slipped into the warm, comforting darkness with the dual drumbeats all around him.

* * *

Abelas squatted at Ellana's side, reaching past her to the cattail-like blood lotus reeds growing up from the shallow water. With a look of concentration, he pinched the stalk heads, releasing a puff of pollen. They both recoiled at it, wafting the air to disperse the cloud.

"Blood lotus," he said, repeating her earlier pronouncement. To remain occupied as the days passed, Ellana had taken to foraging around their camp in the mornings and Abelas had begun accompanying her early on. He was a sharp student of herb-lore, quickly becoming competent enough that he could spot and harvest most of the edible and medicinal plants growing in the area.

She nodded at him and smiled. "Definitely blood lotus." Plucking the cattail-like heads from their stalks, Ellana held them out to the foraging basket Abelas extended for her and deposited them inside. "Try not to breathe its pollen much," she advised. "It's hallucinogenic to some people and a sedative to others. Also flammable. My favorite way to use it was in Sera's jar of bees grenades."

Abelas cocked an eyebrow. "How was this plant used in context with bees?"

"Sera has a real thing for bees," Ellana said, grunting as she rose to her feet and made her way further downriver, her gaze scanning over the soggy sand and smooth river stones making up the bank. "The blood lotus acts like a sedative for them. The pollen inebriates them and keeps them fed until you throw the flask and it breaks open. Then they're just mad and chaos ensues. It was quite effective at panicking enemies."

Humming in acknowledgement, Abelas followed her, wrinkling his nose at the lingering smell and tickle of the pollen. After a few steps Ellana knelt again, groaning under her breath with discomfort, and grabbed the base of a plant with plump, reddish leaves and stalks growing in a circular, almost spiraling pattern. "This one's easy," she said, smiling over her shoulder at him.

"Spindleweed," he said, nodding and returning her smile. "The herb your brother thought he was picking when it was actually rhubarb."

"Exactly." She tugged at the plump stalks and lifted them in her fist to Abelas who took them and placed them into the edibles foraging basket. Ellana had woven both baskets from large grass and palm fronds, using charcoal from their campfire to mark the one she intended to use for non-edible herbs—like the blood lotus.

As she rose upright again pain grabbed her middle, making her gasp and hunch up. She watched as Abelas put the forage baskets down, swift but careful not to spill any of the contents, and moved to her side with naught but a few splashes as he tread through the ankle-deep water. His hand squeezed her bicep, trying to guide her into a more upright posture. "I can help ease the pain, lethallan," he said, voice rough through his golden eyes were dark with concern. "But you must show me where to direct the magic."

Fighting the haze of pain at the height of the cramp, Ellana puffed out a breath and snatched his hand, guiding his hand to her navel. A few seconds later the cool tingle of magic flowed through his hand and into her, easing the taut muscle. Ellana sagged toward him with relief, breathing hard. They stayed close for several heartbeats until Ellana realized Abelas was stiff, most likely uncomfortable with her so close.

Pulling away she felt her cheeks flush with heat. "I'm sorry." She let out a dry chuckle and wiped at the sweat lining her forehead with the back of her hand. "If these are just the false labor pangs I can't imagine how bad the real ones must be."

"Forgive me," Abelas said with an almost sheepish smile. "I have no experience in such things." Tilting his head backward to stare up through the canopy, Abelas grunted as he squinted. "We should make our way back to camp. I will check the snares with Sera."

She nodded and began picking her way over the pebbly riverbank, her feet splashing as she waded. Abelas carried the forage baskets and kept pace with her, his constant nearness reminding her of Solas, making her miss him. They picked their way through the dense forest lining the clearing with the pavilion, stopping a few times when Ellana saw edible mushrooms and stooped to gather them. She felt another cramp threaten to seize her abdomen each time she rose out of the deep crouch, but she refused to pass up the chance for mushrooms and kept a handful of smaller ones, snacking as they returned to the clearing.

The grass was wet with dew that glimmered like starlight as the first rays of sunshine reached one end of the clearing. Large leaves and palm fronds—their makeshift bedrolls—lay on the pavilion's stone floor, centered around the small campfire from the night before. Only slightly smoking coals remained now. Rainier was dozing after his predawn watch. Sera and Dorian were across the clearing, sitting on some rocks they'd rolled into the clearing for just that purpose. They were eating breakfast and bickering about something, as usual. Ellana couldn't quite make out their words, but she could see they had star fruit and her mouth watered at the prospect.

Abelas headed up the jumbled stairs of the pavilion, carrying the foraging baskets, while Ellana peeled away from him and started to cross the meadow. Her eyes were on the star fruit, intent on snagging one, when she heard the dull _whump_ of the eluvian activating and felt the distant tingling tug of its magic on the Anchor.

"Fenedhis," she muttered to herself, gawking down at her palm as it flared green and then at the mirror as it glowed cerulean, rippling like water disturbed by a stone.

Abelas dropped the forage baskets and ran immediately to the mirror, thrusting up his palm to try and shut it off. Blue light glowed from his palm, but it seemed to bounce back when it touched the mirror. He tried again as Rainier choked mid-snore and sprang upright from his makeshift bedroll. Wiping one hand at his face and shaking his head to ward off sleep, he snatched his sword and shield, lurching to join Abelas in a defensive position.

"Can't you turn the damn thing off?" Rainier asked, growling at the sentinel.

The magic flowing from Abelas' hand dissipated, deflected from the mirror. The sentinel scowled and shook his head. "I cannot overpower an _Evanuris._ " He stared down at his palm. "This is Fen'Harel's magic."

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian cursed, jogging with Sera and coming to stop beside Ellana. He gripped her round the shoulders, his arms warm and burly. "Maker's breath, how could that bald son of a bitch have found us?"

"Don't matter how," Sera snarled, lips curling back from her teeth as she dropped to one knee and nocked an arrow, prepped to draw her bowstring taut. "I say we feed `em arrows. Fucking demon is what he is."

Ellana lunged for Sera's arrow, snatching it from the elven girl and tossing it away. "Absolutely not. No arrows."

"Did you do this?" Dorian asked her, nose wrinkling with anger. "Did you meet with that Fade-walking bastard in a moment of weakness, Lana?"

"No," she growled, hands curling into fists. "Just because I don't want anyone to hurt him doesn't mean I wanted him to come here. I—"

The eluvian thrummed, the pitch of its magical hum changing as someone passed through it. When the glass rippled like water all five of them froze, staring tensely as the tall, lean figure of Solas stepped through the mirror and onto the stone of the pavilion. The low, golden morning sunshine cast him in stark relief, half in darkness, half in light. Ellana's heart raced, leaping into her throat, and she felt suddenly sick, certain the mushrooms she'd just eaten would come right back up.

And then she noticed he wore simple enchanter mail, in the familiar green, tan, and pale brown he'd favored when she'd first met him. The humbleness of it after weeks of seeing him wear only the sentinel-like Elvhen armor with his signature wolf pelt left her breathless. It was as if the eluvian had spat out a time-traveling Solas from three years ago—the mysterious, studious, and lonesome apostate. His gaze swept over Abelas and Rainier, then flew past them to Dorian, Sera, and Ellana.

His stare landed on her and stayed there. The entire clearing seemed frozen with disbelief, shock, and—unmistakably—Ellana saw grief in the set of Solas' eyes, his furrowed brow, and the slight parting of his lips. "Ellana," he said, barely breathing her name and yet she heard it clearly anyway.

Licking her lips, she replied, "Solas…" The single word, his name, sounded tremulous with the force of how much she'd missed him.

"Wrong," Dorian said beside her, giving her a small shake that finally drew Ellana's gaze away from Solas and to the Tevinter mage at her side. "You have to be strong, love," he insisted in a quiet but grating voice. "He's _Fen'Harel_. Solas never existed. He's manipulating you, darling. Please. You _must_ see that."

Solas shot Dorian a glare from his spot far across the pavilion, but in spite of the distance Ellana saw the pain in his expression. He looked like a man who'd been forced to step barefoot on glass shards. He swallowed, the bob of his throat just visible above his neckline, and turned back to Ellana. "Please," he said, his normally smooth voice rough and deep, gravelly with emotion. "I came alone. My only wish is to speak with you, to see you again—to tell you I'm sorry. You were right that I should not have taken Halamshiral. I was impatient. I was a fool. I—"

Breaking off, he seemed to notice they had an audience again and his face flushed red. "Please." He shuffled in place, shrugging out of his pack and slinging it gently to the stone floor of the pavilion. "I've brought supplies for the child—clothing, linens." Spreading his arms in a gesture of helplessness, he stared at her, willing her to answer.

Dazed and dizzy with her own confused and conflicted emotions, Ellana's eyes flicked between Solas and the pack he'd slung to the ground. Her pragmatic Dalish nature made her fingers twitch, eager to inspect whatever he'd brought with a surge of gratitude that warmed her chest. Even her clan would be short on supplies compared to the winter palace's stocks.

Beyond practicality, the gift brought a lump of sympathy into her throat as she saw the quiet agony in his features and knew her decision had pained him on dozens of levels, just as his choice to exclude her, keeping secrets and stirring up rebellions that claimed hundreds of lives, had wounded her. But the personal pain she'd subjected him to truly hit her for the first time. He could've believed her dead, killed in the violence of the rebellion or by the Anchor. At least she had the luxury of knowing he almost certainly still lived. And she'd already been torn by guilt and shame, wondering if she could actually deny him a chance to be present at their child's birth. The gift seemed to answer that question with finality and made her heart ache, because even in the midst of everything else that'd happened, Solas had made it clear he hadn't forgotten their child.

Now even Abelas and Rainier had turned to watch her reaction, while Solas simply stared at her, his expression warped with pain as he waited. She sucked in a shaky breath as tears pricked her eyes. "Will you walk with me so we can talk alone?" she asked.

Dorian let out a little huffing sigh but both Ellana and Solas ignored him, blind to the people around them.

"Yes," Solas answered in a raw voice as he swallowed, his throat bobbing again. He smiled wanly. "Nothing would make me happier."

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

Heart pounding as he saw the warmth in her eyes, Solas edged closer, gaze darting to her lips. He pressed his advantage, "I _am_ asking you to guide me, to join me. I will pledge to follow you and fight for you, if you'll have me. I will be your teeth and your claws, because I know you will use them wisely and with more compassion than Mythal."

"And what about when we disagree?" she asked, voice and body trembling, eyes skipping over his face. "What about when I tell you the chaos in Tevinter must stop, or the raids against the humans for food must end? Would you say one thing to appease me and then do another in secret?"


	43. Leashing the Dread Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ellana come to an understanding and an agreement. And just in time!

Ellana led him to the edge of the clearing, through thick grass that rose to mid-thigh height and away from the pavilion and the others. Solas tried not to admire the shape of her legs or the way her messily braided hair fluttered over her shoulders and upper back as she walked. If she truly no longer wished to be his lover then he had no right to long to touch her or be touched by her. Letting himself pine for her would only prolong the suffering, so he kept his eyes downcast.

"How did you find us?" Ellana asked, pausing at the tree line beneath a large, vine-covered fern palm.

That question made him lift his eyes to meet hers and smile, feeling the pleasurable shiver of wonder pass through him. "I had a most…unexpected encounter in the Fade."

Making a face, Ellana's lips quirked in a lopsided, hesitant smile. "One of your spirit friends?" She raised her left hand, flashing the faintly green seam of the Anchor. "I have it on good authority that I look like some kind of beacon to spirits in the Fade. Or that's what the Avvar tell me anyway."

He chuckled, unable to help himself even as his stomach flip-flopped with anxiety and his guts seemed to twist into a huge knot. She _was_ like a beacon, but it wasn't the Anchor that made her shine in his eyes. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he shook his head in answer to her question. "No, not a spirit of the Fade. Not one of my friends." He let his eyes drift to her belly meaningfully. "I slipped into our child's dream the night before last and overheard the sound of conversation. Eventually I heard mention of the Arbor Wilds and the nearness of an eluvian. It was enough that I could find you."

"Our child's dream." She inhaled sharply, eyebrows arching with surprise. "Warm darkness? The heartbeats?"

Now it was his turn to stare at her with astonishment. "You've experienced it as well?"

Smiling and laying a hand over the swell of her abdomen, she nodded. "Yes. I didn't realize what it was until Morrigan told me."

Solas clenched his jaw and averted his gaze then as wonder darkened into something less pleasant. "On the night you left I sensed the Anchor blast in Halamshiral. I was certain you were dying or already dead…"

"I'm sorry I put you through that," she murmured, frowning. "I didn't realize you would feel the blast from the Anchor and think the worst."

Breathing out, long and shakily, he let his shoulders slump, releasing the tension and the lingering memory of the icy terror that'd gripped him by the throat that night. "I met with the Iron Bull," he forced himself to go on, a bit rougher than before as he mastered his emotions. "It was he who told me Morrigan—or _Mythal—_ had somehow stabilized the Anchor." Raising his eyes to meet hers, Solas extended one hand, palm up. "May I see it?"

Ellana hesitated, searching over his face. Then, squaring her shoulders, she extended her hand out to his, letting him grip it. Reluctantly peeling his gaze from her face, Solas focused on her palm. Feeling over the seam with his thumb, he probed it with a gentle sliver of magic and watched as it brightened, noticing that now the glow illuminated the fine bones in her palm and wrist. It was as if the Anchor now resided deeper than before, inside her very bones. Checking her expression for pain, he saw only a slight grimace.

With a frown of confusion, Solas _drew_ on the Anchor, the way he would when trying to taste lingering magic left in an object as with the eluvians or the foci. He'd done something similar when he discharged the Anchor for her. The magic flowed to him, familiar and pleasant, warm and tingling on his skin. He sensed Ellana tense and released his hold on the magic, but kept grip on her hand.

"It is still my magic," he said, speaking without raising his head, still examining it. "Are you in much pain?"

"Not really," she said, shrugging. "Closing rifts was more painful than whatever you just did."

Shooting her an apprehensive look, he asked, "I'd like to try one last thing, if I may?" At her nod of consent Solas again traced the seam with his thumb, but this time instead of probing with magic, he reached for it with his inner senses. The process drew on his mana core as he willed the Anchor to respond to him, to flare up and come alive. He had done the same trick at Haven to first save her life, though with far greater effort because he'd been substantially weaker at the time. He'd willed the Anchor to settle then and it had heeded his command like a good dog recognizing its owner's voice.

But this time the Anchor resisted, refusing him. He registered Ellana's surprise as his eyes flared with light, and then heard her gasp, her hand clenching and shaking with pain around his thumb. Releasing his incorporeal grip on the Anchor, Solas let go of her hand and withdrew a step. "Ir abelas," he apologized, dipping his head in an exaggerated nod. "I wanted to feel what has changed, but I'd hoped it'd cause you less pain."

She shook out her left hand, still grimacing. "Don't worry, the false labor pangs are a lot worse than the Anchor is now." Opening her palm and feeling it over for herself, she traced the seam with her right thumb. "What did you find? Your eyes glowed."

"It has been bound to you so completely now that I can no longer exert any control over it," he admitted, the vexation he felt coloring his voice. "What did Mythal do?"

"We were in the Fade," she explained. "She put me to sleep and did something to the Anchor and my…spirit?" She frowned, sighing. "It's a little hazy to me, but Abelas and Dorian probably understood it a lot better than—"

"She could have placed a compulsion on you," Solas said, moving suddenly for her and then stopping himself short, as if afraid to touch her. His hands opened and closed, fisting and then relaxing again. His shoulders heaved and his heart raced as he tried to sense if anything had been done to Ellana, anything altered.

Ellana had tensed, watching him with a wary look. "Abelas warned me that Morrigan…that Mythal intended to put some sort of compulsion spell on me, yes. That was why he had his vallaslin removed. He disagreed with her plans. She was…" she broke off, frowning with sudden vehement anger clouding her face. "Mythal hoped to use our child or me, possibly, as a vessel for herself."

Solas snarled, hot blood rushing to his cheeks and burning him all the way to his ears. "Fenedhis lasa," he snarled. His mana coiled, ready and eager to be shaped into hostile magic, but Solas tabled it. There was no one to attack here, no one to fight. Breathing out, he asked, "You are certain you remain yourself?"

"Dorian and Abelas watched the whole ritual," she said. "I trust them." Fidgeting with her hands, she stared at him evenly and then laid her hands protectively over her belly. "But if I ever seem inclined to give myself or our child over to become Mythal's vessel, you're welcome to stop me with any force necessary." She sucked in a quavering breath then and bit her lip before saying, "When the Anchor destabilized in that street, when I thought I was going to die, I made Dorian promise to save the baby and bring him to you."

Watching her, Solas had gone stiff at her words, freezing like a deer in the wolf's gaze. The thought of what _could_ have happened—the Anchor consuming her in agony, of the desperation and selflessness that would drive her to command such a promise from her closest friend—he felt heat and pressure behind his eyes and closed them, turning his head away. He wanted to rail against her recklessness in leaving him during such a volatile time, for putting herself and their child in danger, but she'd done it because his actions had driven her away. Taking Halamshiral in rebellion had been as repulsive to her as slavery was to him.

"Vhen—" He cut himself off, wincing at the error and unable to meet her eye. Starting again, he said, " _Ellana._ I could not bear to lose you. Please, do not throw yourself into danger like that again. I understand I drove you away, that my actions were…repugnant." He frowned, shaking his head as he snuck a quick glance at her face before his eyes danced away again.

"I will never keep you against your will. I would have gladly provided you with an escort out of the palace and Halamshiral as soon as the fighting stopped. My only desire is to ensure that you are safe. My greatest pleasure is knowing you are happy—whether I am with you or not." The lump in his throat ached, so cold it burned, but he forced himself to speak around it. "If you'd never wanted to see me again, I would have honored your wishes." Feeling the knot of anxiety in his guts tighten at the admission, he hurriedly added, "Though I will insist on seeing our child."

"Solas," she said, rasping. "You _did_ keep me against my will. You had Lyris and Mathrel guarding me, like I was your prisoner."

"For your safety," he persisted, though he knew it was partly untrue. He'd suspected she'd try to leave rather than be tacitly complicit in his rebellion.

She sighed, the sound holding a measure of anger in it that made him flinch, eyes and face still averted. "We both know that if I'd stayed, you would have convinced me—guilted me, really—into using the Anchor to help you. That's why you're here now, isn't it?"

Scowling as heat licked his cheeks, Solas narrowed his eyes as he met her challenging stare with his own. Speaking with a controlled, tight tone, he said, "While I have a vested interest in finding you for the Anchor, I am here first and foremost because I refuse to miss our child's birth." It did not escape his notice that she seemed to flinch at his words. He filed the reaction away as interesting and pressed on. "Secondly…I require your guidance. When I act without it, I tend to take regrettable actions."

"Like giving Corpypheus your orb," she commented, the barb digging into him like a fishhook.

Closing his eyes and sighing with frustration at himself, he averted his face again from her. "Yes. And taking Halamshiral and the winter palace in a violent rebellion when I should have appealed to the Inquisition and the Divine for a peaceful escort from the city when it became clear Celene would not stop trying to kill us."

He stared down at his fidgeting hands as he wrung them together in front of himself. "You were right to be angry. My actions were brash, callous, and have painted the People in a poor light when before we could have garnered sympathy. I estranged us from our human allies with violence because I was angry at the threat of assassination. I saw what the People could accomplish and acted on it without considering whether it was the right path. The means justified the end, but I was wrong. If I had but consulted you, I would have seen it was folly and I a fool for considering it."

She made a small noise of pain and Solas lifted his eyes to search over her, immediately worried she was having a false labor pang, but finding instead that her eyes brimmed with tears. Her lips trembled, the edges curling downward as she turned her head away and blinked, sending the tears cascading down her cheeks. Gritting her teeth, she flicked them away. "I want to believe you, Solas. I've begged you to treat me as a partner. I thought we'd made progress in the Emerald Graves, but Halamshiral…"

"I know," he said, head drooping and brow furrowed with the misery tearing at him like a blade. Glancing back over his shoulder toward the distant pavilion, Solas saw Dorian, Rainier, and Sera all sitting together, talking quietly as they covertly watched the elven couple. Abelas, however, sat on the jumbled, broken pavilion stairs beside two woven baskets, openly staring at them with narrowed eyes—like a hawk waiting for unwary prey. Solas bristled at the sight, though he quashed the reaction, refocusing on Ellana.

Licking his lips and ignoring the anxious squeeze of the knot in his belly, Solas said, "In Elvhenan, when I first came to Arlathan's court and before I was unmasked as an Evanuris, I served as a general and advisor under Mythal. I did not act without her consent. I was her teeth and her claws. Sometimes she agreed with my plans and we enacted them, and sometimes she dismissed them despite my protests."

He smiled, though it was wan and humorless. "Invariably, she was correct." Tugging on his sleeves, he lifted his gaze to hers and felt his stomach clench at the small furrow between her brows. "Though I disagree with her methods now, ours was a successful partnership at the time, but I was not the leader. When I joined the Inquisition, I was stunned to find myself serving a leader no less worthy than Mythal—more so, in fact."

Ellana's lips curled in a lopsided, hesitant smile. "Are you saying you want to be my general? Or just my Fade expert?"

Staring at her, feeling his limbs go somehow both heavy and light with nervousness, Solas thought, _I'll be anything you want me to be, anything you let me be._ Swallowing to try and wet his parched throat, he said, "I am suggesting I am not the leader you are. I am at my strongest, ironically, when leashed."

Her green eyes darted over his body in a swift appraisal and her cheeks pinked, leaving him little doubt that she'd been unable to stop herself from seeing innuendo in the comment. Heat spread over his cheeks like a wine stain over a tablecloth and he chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced away sheepishly. "Apologies. I did not mean—"

"You don't have to apologize," she interrupted, smiling with real humor. "I'm the one who can't keep a straight face to save her life."

Heart pounding as he saw the warmth in her eyes, Solas edged closer, gaze darting to her lips. He pressed his advantage, "I _am_ asking you to guide me, to join me. I will pledge to follow you and fight for you, if you'll have me. I will be your teeth and your claws, because I know you will use them wisely and with more compassion than Mythal."

"And what about when we disagree?" she asked, voice and body trembling, eyes skipping over his face. "What about when I tell you the chaos in Tevinter must stop, or the raids against the humans must end? Would you say one thing to appease me and then do another in secret?"

"No," Solas said, emphatic as he shook his head in the negative. "If and when I disagree with you, I would counsel you to find another solution before you command it be stopped. Everything I did was with purpose. I arranged the raids for food and the chaos in Tevinter is to free slaves and allow my agents to uncover Elvhen artifacts."

She nodded, her expression contemplative though he saw doubt still darkening her eyes. After a lengthy pause she cast a look past him toward the clearing and sighed, her shoulders slumping and her hands moving to her belly, resting there. "I want to believe you, Solas."

"Then believe me, please," he begged, the words rasping. "I know it is much of me to ask, but…" Heart lurching into his throat, Solas shifted and shrugged the bow he'd been carrying from his shoulders. Holding it in both hands, he extended it to her. "I commissioned this for you. I intended it as a betrothal gift, to pledge my commitment to you…"

Her eyes grazed the bow, widening as she took it in. Then she looked at him, lips parting and then closing again, apparently speechless. The knot inside him twisted, sharp and tight as he waited for a response, hardly daring even to breathe. His hands were sweaty where he clasped the bow.

Slow with reverence, Ellana raised her hands to the bow, taking it. Solas let it go and withdrew a small step. "There is no need for an immediate answer," he hedged. "I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. The bow is yours regardless."

"It's beautiful," she said, soft as a whisper. She palmed the grip, shifting to an archer's sideways stance, and drew the bowstring in the practiced motion he'd seen so many times. The bow's limbs bent in an elegant curve, the thin, flexible metal crafted into the supple wood glinting as it caught the light.

"I had hoped to give this to you weeks ago," he admitted quietly, feeling the weight of a foreboding sadness pressing down on him. He'd told her she didn't need to answer right away, but the longer she didn't speak made him certain he wouldn't like what she had to say. "But in the Emerald Graves, when I saw that your affinity is for storm magic, I asked your Keeper and clan crafter to alter it. I wanted to teach you the archer's magic of Elvhenan, if you were willing."

She lowered the bow and met his gaze with a warm, cautious smile. "I'd like that." Then, gingerly, she tucked the bow onto her shoulder, a slow and deliberate action of possession. Of acceptance. Something light and soft like hope stirred in his chest though he tried to quash it.

She reached for his forearm, squeezing. The smile had not yet left her lips. Solas simply stared at her, stomach rolling and heart racing. She took a breath then and said, "I'm willing to try again, but it may take me some time to trust."

Solas searched her face, trying to puzzle out whether she meant his suggestion of a partnership, with her as the leader rather than himself, or if it was more than that. His mouth was dry, his tongue feeling too big and clumsy for it as he fought to find the right words. Aiming for lighthearted, he tried to smile, though he knew it'd look more like a grimace. "Are you accepting my service to you for the People or are you consenting to betrothal?"

A slow smile curled over her lips, though her chin trembled. "I can't have both?"

Excitement made his stomach leap, his breath catch in his throat. He wanted to say something clever and funny, but his throat seemed to be too full to speak, his mind too chaotic with the surge of relief and joy pounding through his blood. The best he could manage was to say, "Vhenan…" He had to close his eyes against the sudden prick of tears in his eyes. "Ma serannas."

Drawing closer and tugging his hand to her belly, Ellana added, "And whatever happens, I want our baby to know his father. I don't think I could've gone through with keeping you away, but I'm sorry I ever considered trying. You love him as much as I do and it was wrong of me to—"

Solas kissed her, having leaned close as she spoke, unable to hold himself back. The contact was tentative initially, but Ellana responded with passion, her breath puffing hot against his cheek as she parted her lips and tugged him nearer. The protrusion of her belly kept him from molding his body to hers, forcing him to shift to one side as his hand not against her abdomen moved to cradle her neck. He tilted her head backward slightly and she opened more to the kiss, letting him taste her with his tongue.

"Ugh!" Sera shouted, groaning loudly from across the clearing. "Frigging gross. Just nasty."

Ellana broke the kiss, pulling away a step and releasing his hand on her navel. Her cheeks flushed red, lips puffy from the kiss as her gaze shot past him toward Sera and the others. Solas sighed, only faintly feeling the tension of embarrassment bunching his shoulders over the far more powerful rush of relief and affection. Yet he held himself in check, watching and waiting on her rather than her companions across the clearing.

After several long seconds of silence, Ellana looked back to him and her brow furrowed with an expression of concentration. "Tell me about what's happened at Halamshiral."

* * *

_The Dales are ours,_ Ellana thought and the idea of it still left her dizzy with shock. Solas had told her that although the empress had signed a proclamation stating just that, he didn't expect anyone to honor it. He'd released the empress and Briala to uphold his end of their agreement, despite the fact that holding both women prisoner held enormous value.

"Why did you release them?" Ellana asked when he explained it. They were sitting on the cool ground at the edge of the clearing together, surrounded by the grasses that rose to shoulder height, nearly obscuring them. The others remained on the opposite side of the clearing, though Abelas and Rainier had left to hunt. Apparently they'd decided that Solas had no intention of attacking the group and dragging Ellana through the eluvian and truly intended to simply talk.

Solas frowned, lips twisting and eyes narrowing with offense. "Because it was what we three had agreed upon. I am already remembered as a trickster by the People. I have no wish to be further derided as an oath breaker and liar amongst the humans."

She nodded, keeping her expression as impassive as she could while struggling not to point out that he'd spent _years_ lying to her and the Inquisition. Not to mention that taking Halamshiral and the winter palace during peace talks with a surprise attack had hardly been an honest move. It was…exactly the sort of thing a trickster would do. In the interest of not squabbling like dogs over a scrap of meat, Ellana kept her lips pinched firmly shut on that topic and instead clarified, "I meant why did you offer to let them go free in the first place? You could have kept them there."

Now Solas offered her a humorless smile. "Many reasons. Firstly because Celene was disinclined to work with me without such an offer. In addition to that, keeping them imprisoned, or killing them, was what was expected of me as a 'savage.'" He tugged absently at his tunic sleeves. "I was also aware that the rest of Thedas would be watching. The Divine and the Inquisition will likely mount an attack on us soon, regardless of my actions with the empress, but I hoped to salvage a chance at diplomacy."

"You're sure they will attack?" Ellana asked, feeling her heart sink.

Cocking his head slightly, Solas' eyes clouded with darkness. "I believe you know the answer to that already well enough. Even should the Divine hesitate and the Inquisition with her, Celene will certainly launch an assault. She will never honor the accord she signed." His blue eyes drifted down to her left hand resting against her abdomen. "We will need to fight. We have always known that."

The thought of unleashing Solas' power in war made Ellana's blood flash over into ice. She shivered and clenched her left hand, crossing her arms under her breasts and tucking the Anchor away as if she could make Solas forget that was an option. Clenching her jaw, she stared at the lush grass around them, the tiny buds about to bloom with full on springtime. "Tell me how you would fight an army coming to claim Halamshiral," she said, her voice gravelly and somber. "I need to know the consequences. I don't want to be surprised."

Solas turned his head, averting his gaze as he frowned—not with frustration or anger, but with sadness. The wrinkle that formed in his brow and the heavy cast of his eyes gave it away clearly. "I am afraid surprising you will prove unavoidable. I can tell you of my every ability, of each battle I fought in Elvhenan, but I doubt it will ever prepare you for seeing it."

She shifted, drawing slightly closer. "I remember you said Mythal and Elgar'nan could crack open the earth itself to swallow whole armies. Can you?"

He winced, as if her question caused him pain. "My will and mana reserves can do…considerable damage to a great many."

"You need to give me something more concrete than that," Ellana told him with a note of irritation. She uncrossed her arms and flashed her left palm at him, wriggling the fingers. "I need to know what I'm doing before I can agree to give you what you want. If you want me to guide you, or be my general as you said, I need to know."

His blue eyes slid to hers, locking on in a sidelong stare. Silence stretched for several beats, letting Ellana hear only the gentle sigh of the trees and the shrieking call of the blue and pink tropical birds Dorian hated so much. Then, in a hushed voice, Solas said, "I can petrify several hundred arcane warriors with ease, one right after another or all at once. I have not yet encountered my limit. The largest mindblast I cast killed over five hundred in one of Falon'Din's armies instantly. I once incinerated three hundred in a skirmish alongside Lyris and Mathrel."

Ellana stared at him, lips slightly parted, and said nothing. Eyes glazing as he went on, Solas' voice seemed to grow smaller, as if confessing terrible crimes. In a way, Ellana thought, that was exactly what he was doing.

"A blizzard I cast while in service to Mythal raged for a week over a valley miles across until it froze the rebel arcane warriors we'd been hunting. I have held at least a thousand in a static cage and then killed them with winter's grasp." Heaving a sigh and closing his eyes as his head drooped, he added, "Alongside Mythal and Elgar'nan, _I_ split the earth beneath Falon'Din's army as they tried to retreat from us. Many of the Deep Roads fissures across Thedas are marks from where the earth has not healed from such foolish shows of force by the Evanuris."

" _You_ did that?" Ellana asked, gawking.

He frowned, nose wrinkling as if with disgust. "I did. Once. Please understand, I could not do such damage without the help of Mythal and Elgar'nan. Only the combined power of several Evanuris could achieve it, and even if I could perform it again I would not."

"Fenedhis," Ellana cursed, barely breathing. She stared at her left hand, flexing it again as she tried to imagine actually witnessing what he described. After a few seconds she said, "I'm glad to hear splitting open the earth isn't one of our available options—but I can't help but notice you haven't answered my question. How _would_ you fight an army of Orlesians, Tevinters, or…" She winced. "Inquisition soldiers?"

His shoulders sank. "That would depend on how many I faced and what tactics they used. Trebuchets I would counter with ice to lock up the mechanisms and prevent them firing. Assuming the city was not yet surrounded, I would cast a blizzard and sustain it until the soldiers froze or fled."

 _Ice,_ Ellana thought, skin prickling with gooseflesh as an idea leapt into her mind. "Would it be possible, do you think, to limit yourself to nonlethal tactics?" At his arched eyebrow and slight downward tug at the corners of his lips, Ellana quickly amended, "Within reason, I mean. I'm guessing you'd be able to cast a wall of ice to physically block an army from attacking."

"We would then be trapped within," he reminded her.

"We have eluvians," Ellana insisted, thumping her right fist into her left palm. "Supplies could be brought in or people sent out so the city would be mostly empty but we could still hold it against an army."

With a dip of his head, he smiled slightly. "Perhaps."

Ellana screwed up her face, glaring. "That's what you say when you're dismissing something to avoid explaining _why_ you don't want to do it or think it won't work." She challenged him with her eyes, commanding more from him. "Tell me what's really on your mind."

Solas flashed an almost sheepish grin. "Forgive me, I am not dismissing the idea, merely uncertain of it. A wall of ice cast in the high summer would melt with surprising swiftness on its own in the heat, but the Orlesians and Inquisition will use mages and may bring it down in a matter of hours."

"Would you be unable to simply cast another?" she probed.

"I could manage it," he said, expression unreadable. "It is just…an odd tactic. I had not considered it."

"Do you think it would work?" she pressed.

"Yes." A tight smile spread over Solas' lips. "Assuming the Fade was restored and I possess my full abilities and reserves. We would need to evacuate much of the city as we will not be able to feed them all and the standoff could last some time."

"It sounds like a plan to me," Ellana said, feeling excitement bubble inside her chest. The Anchor warmed, the heat flaring through her bones in a slow burn. Glancing down at it, she smirked as she saw the greenish light. "Apparently I'm eager to get started."

Twisting around at the neck, Solas looked in the direction of the pavilion where the eluvian still glowed cerulean blue, humming with magic. She watched as his eyes then slid to where Dorian and Sera sat, munching on food from the forage basket. "What do you wish to tell the others?" he asked. "Do you wish them to stay with you?"

"I'll tell them the truth and they can do whatever they'd like with that." She shrugged, smiling tenderly as she watched Sera slug Dorian in the shoulder, reacting to something he'd said. "If they want to come with me, I'll welcome them." She paused, pinning him with a hard stare. "Will you?"

He winced. "I'd prefer Dorian and Rainier not join us. They would face hostility from our people. Sera will not be comfortable going with us once the Fade is restored to Halamshiral." Shaking his head, he said, "As for Abelas…"

"You don't trust him," Ellana said, seeing the truth of it in the mild snarl tightening his features. "But I do. He left Mythal's service to be sure he could stop her from placing me under a compulsion. I watched Arina and Zaron fall under her will and attack him. Abelas fought them off but never hurt them. He's a good man and worthy of your trust."

Narrowing his blue eyes at her, Solas said, _"Your_ trust, vhenan. He is loyal to you, not to me."

Licking her lips, Ellana said, "He knows Mythal. He may be valuable because of that. He can anticipate whatever she will do next."

"Doubtful," Solas muttered, a little crease forming over the bridge of his nose. Sighing, he jerked his chin toward the far end of the clearing and Ellana saw Rainier and Abelas emerging from the forest. Abelas carried a dead nug in one hand; its little throat slit and drained of blood. "Are you ready to speak with them?" Solas asked.

"Yes," she nodded and shifted, trying to get her legs beneath her so she could rise, but finding it challenging. Her belly made her cumbersome and her swollen ankles and stuff, achy back didn't help the matter. Solas was on his feet and helping her immediately, his long-fingered hands gripping her biceps firmly but gently, hauling her up. She rested her hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin rising from beneath the fabric of his tunic as she struggled to dismiss the faint dizziness that set the world spinning around her.

"Are you all right?" Solas asked her, leaning his forehead close to hers. The back of his left hand caressed her cheek softly. "You look a little pale."

Chuckling, she pushed him away. "I'd almost forgotten how much of a worrier you were about me." She smiled to reassure him when she saw his anxious look. "I'm fine, Solas." Gripping her hips, she dug her thumbs into her back, rubbing at the low ache there. "Just sat there too long."

"You should see a healer," he said quietly. "I'm con—"

A crackling sound echoed through the clearing, making both of their heads whip toward where Dorian and the others sat beside the forage basket. Lightning flickered, lighting the trees behind their group with the white-purple hued energy, and Ellana saw a violent explosion of colorful pink and blue feathers fluttered from the pavilion roof's edge. Two other colorful birds flew away in a panicked flapping of wings and shrieking.

"Nice," Sera exclaimed with a laugh. "But you let two of 'em get away."

Rainier laughed as well, one hand grabbing at his belly with the loud peals of it. "Oh, the feathers…all that's left of it…"

"You've left no usable meat," Abelas complained.

Ellana looked to the feathers still falling to the ground and saw nothing but a scorch mark and some bloodstains on the white stone of the pavilion roof. Dorian had fried the bird with a burst of lightning.

"That was my plan," Dorian said with a huff. "The last thing I want is for you to try cooking one of those foul things up. Can you imagine how _awful_ that'd be? Worse than the nug."

" _Nothing's_ worse than nug," Rainier said, jabbing a finger at Dorian as if in reprimand.

"That's debatable," Dorian said with a sniff as his eyes landed on Ellana. "Are you ready to kick that Fade-loving filth back through the mirror, my dear?" he called out to her. "Please say yes. You wouldn't want to let me down now, would you?"

Ellana shot Solas an apologetic look. "Will you wait by the eluvian?" she asked. "I don't want Dorian to punch you again."

Dipping his head, Solas said, "Of course, vhenan. You are ever wise." Glancing in Dorian's direction with a slight turn of his head and dry amusement brightening his eyes, Solas added, "He does have a well-established record of striking me—and not, necessarily, without reason."

She chuckled dryly. "Should I start calling you Athim instead of Solas?" _Humility_ instead of _Pride._

He smiled, warm and affectionate, reaching out and brushing her hair with one hand before he cupped her cheek. "If that is your wish," he said and then withdrew a step. "Take all the time you need. I will be waiting."

* * *

Solas leaned against one of the pillars closest to the eluvian, head bent forward and arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Ellana talk with her companions. After the protests from Dorian and Sera—and more than a few from Rainier as well—Ellana had gradually begun convincing them that this was the best course of action. Of course Dorian was the last holdout and argued long after the others had accepted her decision.

"And what, pray tell, happens when that bald spellbind stops pretending to have turned over a new leaf?" he demanded, his face set in a snarl and his hands curled into fists at his side. He spoke loud enough that Solas could hear him with ease, though he studiously ignored the Tevinter, barely doing more than sneaking quick peeks at the other man.

"Solas has promised he won't keep me against my will. I'll be free to go," she said, calm and reassuring. Then, with a note of earnestness, she added, "I can convince him to stop the chaos in the Imperium this way." Looking to Rainier and Sera then, she said, "And across Thedas. This is our best option."

"He won't honor it, you know," Dorian snarled.

"Fen'Harel served Mythal loyally for centuries," Abelas put in, unexpectedly rising to Solas' defense. "He was renowned as a general."

"Well la-dee-dah," Dorian grumbled, huffing. "Good for him, but that doesn't prove anything."

Solas quashed the heat of humiliation and irritation burning over his skin, reminding himself that he deserved their ire and doubt. Watching Ellana argue for him warmed him from within, making his heart swell with love and gratitude. He didn't deserve her bountiful forgiveness, her boundless capacity to love despite being hurt. The strength of it humbled him, prickling his skin with gooseflesh as ripples of awe passed through him.

Eventually the group agreed that Dorian, Sera, and Rainier would part ways from Ellana and Abelas. The two humans and Sera would travel to the winter palace through the eluvian and then leave for Val Royeaux or wherever else they desired. While they chattered, Solas continued observing Ellana, steeling himself for the challenges to come when he'd have to defend Halamshiral from attack using nonlethal techniques. The idea of it sent the anxiety knot in his gut coiling tight because he'd never done it before. What if he failed and had to slaughter everyone to save the city? Would Ellana see that or would she suspect he'd betrayed her?

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he almost missed it when Ellana's posture altered, hunching. She had one hand bracing her back still and her expression was drawn and somewhat haggard. Her skin was pale and with a light sheen of sweat lining her brow and upper lip. Both Dorian and Abelas reacted faster than him, to his shame, falling silent a beat and then asking nearly identical questions with concern.

"Are you all right, love?"

"Are you in pain, lethallan?"

She answered in a strained voice, the words strangled and guttural. "This one's different from the others." Letting out a breathy pant, she rubbed at her belly, gnashing her teeth together.

Solas sprang from his slouching position, hurrying across the pavilion and hopping sprightly down the pavilion steps. Dorian and Abelas, who'd both been reaching for her, stepped back as he approached. Abelas' expression was neutral as he gave way, but Dorian glowered as if the fact that Solas shared the same atmosphere as he did was an insult. Sera and Rainier just stared with concern for Ellana, content to ignore him as long as he was there to help.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, ready to relieve her pain. He laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing to offer moral support. Her body felt hot to the touch, almost as if with fever. When he laid his hand over her belly, trying to direct his magic to where the cramps had usually seized her, Solas felt it was rock hard. He'd felt that before with her false labor pangs, but it was still unnerving now—especially as Ellana squirmed while standing in place and hunched up with the pain.

She dragged his hand across her navel and then frowned, shaking her head. Immediately Solas sent the cooling magic into her, trying to ease the muscle and dull the pain as much as possible. "This one started in my back." Huffing with relief, she shook under his touch. "That is…a little better."

"Time to push it out?" Sera asked, giggling nervously. "For real, this time?"

"Time to go through that eluvian," Ellana said, voice still strangled with pain despite the fact that Solas hadn't stopped the stream of magic flowing into her. "That way I can relax." She groaned, eyes fluttering. "My back is _killing_ me."

Solas stooped slightly, draping her arm over his shoulders. "Let me help you, vhenan."

Breathing fast as if winded from a jog, Ellana let him guide her to the eluvian. Solas heard the others' following, their feet shuffling over the stone as they left a few meters between themselves and the couple, as if tentative or afraid of infringing on their privacy. Solas forgot about them as he took Ellana through the mirror, feeling the cool caress of its magic wash over them both as they emerged out the other side into the dusty storage room.

Helping her sit on a large crate, Solas quickly examined her left palm to check on the Anchor. It had flared up slightly with the magic of the eluvian stimulating it and now glowed. Solas traced it reverently with his thumb, feeling how moist her palms were. "Does the Anchor hurt much?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not over everything else," she said, flashing a wry smile. Her right hand was still rubbing at her belly and then alternating to her back. "Fenedhis," she cursed. "The ache just never quits."

The others came through the mirror one by one, making it thrum. They lingered nearby, as if lost. Again Solas decided the best course of action was to ignore them for now.

Releasing Ellana's left hand and cupping her cheeks, feeling the sticky sweat on her skin, Solas said, "We need to get you to a bed so you can rest."

She let out a long breath, shoulders slouching. Then, with a grimace of determination, she heaved herself off the crate and back onto her feet. But just as Solas started to reach for her arm to offer help again, Ellana let out a gasping yelp and squirmed in place, crossing one leg over the other like a child trying not to wet herself. _"Shit,"_ she bit out the curse. "What in the void…?"

Solas raised both eyebrows in question, shaking his head. "Vhenan?" he asked with a note of alarm. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she ground out, still standing awkwardly with one leg crossed over the other. Her cheeks were bright red. "I…" She changed position, struggling to bend forward and see between her legs but failing due to the enormous belly blocking her view. "I can't see it but…" She flashed a hard smile, teeth gritted together. "It feels like I need a change of breeches," she admitted, clearing her throat with a look of abject horror.

Glancing down that way, Solas saw a small but noticeable dark stain of moisture. Urine? He felt his own cheeks flush with sympathetic embarrassment, aware of the other four people who could overhear this and see the evidence with their own eyes. His mind cast around, trying to find some way to cover her up or send the others away—or both—but then Sera spoke.

"Oh, love this part, yeah? Your water broke. Looks like you pissed yourself—`cept not."

Both Solas and Ellana stared at Sera, uncomprehending. Ellana was the one who asked, "Water?"

Sera put her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. "Didn't anyone ever tell you 'bout this shite? I've seen this before, yeah? Friends of mine on the street when they pushed their kids out." She made a sweeping motion with both hands, downward from her crotch. "Whoosh! Water comes out. Then the baby. Well, first screaming and pain and _then_ baby…"

"Ah," Dorian said, "I see. This is _real_ labor, finally."

Solas' heart had started galloping in his chest. _Real labor._ Turning back to Ellana, he said, "I will carry you, vhenan." He stepped close and knelt to scoop her into his arms, grunting as he took on her weight. "Hold on," he said to her and strode for the door.

She clung to his neck, breath still puffing fast as he strode for the door and into the hall. "This was _not_ how I pictured this evening going," she grumbled, her sweaty hands gripping him tightly. Solas could see the flutter of her pulse at her neck, beating away at a frantic pace.

"Suledin," Solas murmured, adopting a calm and reassuring tone as he masked his own pounding heart. "Suledin. We will endure together."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You know something about childbirth?" Lyris asked Sera.

The archer shrugged. "Maybe." She eyed Lyris through eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Why…?"

"I'm asking because you're not pale as a sheet the way the bearded human was…" Lyris turned her head slightly then, jerking it in Solas' direction. "And hahren."

Solas glowered at her but said nothing as Ellana chuckled at his expense, thinking he really _did_ look alarmed by everything. His skin, always pale, had an ashen quality now and a thin sheen of sweat. The hunched set of his shoulders belied unease where he sat in the chair at her bedside with his elbows on his knees.

Sera cackled. "Right yeah? Seen guys toss up their cookies they can't take just watching it. Bunch of scaredy-nugs runnin' round pissing their breeches." She motioned at Solas. "Even daddy droopy ears here who put it in there."

* * *

 

Sorry for the delays in posting! I try to do it every day but I recently started a new job and so I have had a LOT less free time! I hope you guys can bear with me! And, if you want, check out my other story "Solas the Circle Mage." That one's part of a series, again also up on ff.net.


	44. Vunlanal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana endures the rigors of labor. Meanwhile, Solas' conquest of Halamshiral is under threat. Unless he can restore the Fade and gain his full power to defend the winter palace, he is sure to lose it. 
> 
> A/N: All props to FenxShiral for the Project Elvhen elven used throughout. I'm not sure if I'm conjugating it correctly but "vunlanal" is giving birth or labor.

Ellana hadn't ever witnessed a birth or attended one within the clan—a fact she regretted now. Although births were fairly common—one every few years—in a sizable and healthy clan like Lavellan, Ellana herself had either been too young to aid in one or busy with other duties. None of the women who'd given birth while she was a teenager had been family members or close friends, so Ellana hadn't been called on to leave her usual duties as a hunter. When Rinaya, her sister-in-law and close friend, had given birth to her niece, Ellana had been far away leading the Inquisition.

It was Rinaya and her mother Ellana kept thinking of and longing for as Solas, Dorian, and Sera seemed to flutter and flap around her like startled birds. Rainier stood away from her bed, his stance awkward and his face twisted in something like discomfort. Abelas, meanwhile, had left without being asked and returned with Solas' three other Elvhen advisors: Lyris, Mathrel, and Zevanni.

As soon as Zevanni entered the room the Anchor crackled, lighting up until it seemed to illuminate every bone in her left hand. The pain burned, robbing her of breath as badly as the contractions did. She gritted her teeth and clutched it, rocking with the pain, and heard the shuffle and flurry of activity as Dorian tried to comfort her and Solas sprang to his feet and moved to his advisors.

"You," he growled at Zevanni. "Get out."

"What?" she asked, scowling.

"The foci," he said, still biting out the words. "Take it away."

Zevanni heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes. "Ma nuvenin," she said and whipped around, stalking from the room.

As the sound of her footsteps retreated down the hallway, Ellana felt the pain in her hand recede and flopped like a boneless fish against the pillows behind her, panting. Dorian squeezed her shoulder. "Are you all right, love? I take it that wasn't about the baby that time."

"I'm fine," she said, sighing. She didn't have the energy or patience to explain that it'd been the foci and let her eyes drift shut. It was late afternoon in Halamshiral and the golden sunlight lit the room in dull hues, making everything seem hazy and dreamlike, except for the contractions. Solas had brought her to a room near the one they'd shared during the peace talks and found her new breeches that were just a tad too long and too wide at the waist, meaning she had to hold them up if she moved around much.

"I sent one of the Dalish Firsts to Halamshiral to look for Inan," Lyris said and Ellana could hear the frown in her voice. "But she may not find her any time soon." The unspoken meaning was obvious: no one knew if the physician had survived the chaos of Solas' rebellion. They might never find her.

Solas hummed, a sound of acknowledgement, then spoke quietly, "Mathrel, I need you to find Mahanon and ask him to retrieve Ellana's mother, clan Lavellan's healer. Mahanon may already be in the Emerald Graves."

Another contraction seized Ellana's belly then and she grabbed the bedspread with clenched, sweaty fists and whimpered as pain washed away everything else. As soon as the swell of the contraction passed, Ellana let out a long breath and blinked, seeing that Solas had settled at her bedside again. He'd reached out, pressing his palm to her belly and letting the cooling flow of healing magic tingle over her taut muscles. It took the edge off the pain but couldn't stop it entirely. Her back ached worse than her belly now.

"Ow," she said, grunting as she tried to smile at him. "Doesn't this look like fun?"

He chuckled. "Indeed. I should try it some time."

"You three," Lyris barked at Rainier, Dorian, and Abelas. "Out."

"I will aid Mathrel in searching for Lady Lavellan's brother," he said and then, with a nod in her direction, Abelas turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

"What?" Dorian protested immediately, scoffing. "Why? Lana hasn't asked us to go."

"Dorian," Rainier spoke up from the door. "Maybe she's right and we should wait outside."

The Tevinter mage crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at both Lyris and Rainier. "I'm only leaving if that is Ellana's wish."

"It isn't proper," Lyris protested, cheeks flushing red as she looked to Ellana and then Solas.

"What `bout me?" Sera interjected, motioning at Ellana. "This about having a cock or not being one of droopy ear's arse-kissers?"

Lyris scowled. "This is about propriety. Men are not useful in the birthing room—other than the father, of course."

"I agree," Solas added, his face had also reddened like Lyris', though his voice remained cool.

"No one _cares_ about _your_ opinion," Dorian snarled.

Losing her patience, Ellana groaned, forcing herself upright again and stabbing a finger at Dorian. " _I_ care, but you're right that only _I_ decide who stays and who goes. And _I_ say you can stay if you'd like—but only if you're going to help and not argue. Do you understand?"

Dorian wrinkled his nose a moment, narrowing his brown eyes as he glared briefly in Solas' direction. Then, sighing, he said, "Tell me how I can help. I'd like to stay until your family or the healer arrives. You could use the extra magic, yes?"

"Hardly," Solas grumbled. "I possess more magic than you will cast in your entire lifetime."

Now Ellana grunted as she half-rolled, half-scooted to jab a finger accusingly at Solas. " _Athim,_ " she reminded him, glaring. "No fighting. Or by the void I swear I will kick you out until he's crowning."

Solas cringed at her threat. "Ir abelas, vhenan."

"I'll…go wait in the hall," Rainier said, clearing his throat and shifting uneasily. But he looked to Ellana and smiled with warmth. "I wish you a swift, easy birth, my lady." His smile widened into a grin. "And my money's still on this being a boy."

"Not that again," Solas grumbled under his breath as Rainier left the room with a steady thump of his armored boots.

"You know something about childbirth?" Lyris asked Sera.

The archer shrugged. "Maybe." She watched Lyris through eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Why…?"

"I'm asking because you're not pale as a sheet the way the bearded human was…" Lyris turned her head slightly then, jerking it in Solas' direction. "And hahren."

Solas glowered at her but said nothing as Ellana chuckled at his expense, thinking he really _did_ look alarmed by everything. His skin, always pale, had an ashen quality now and a thin sheen of sweat. The hunched set of his shoulders belied unease where he sat in the chair at her bedside with his elbows on his knees.

Sera cackled. "Right yeah? Seen guys toss up their cookies they can't take just watching it. Bunch of scaredy-nugs runnin' round pissing their breeches." She motioned at Solas. "Even daddy droopy ears here who put it in there." Again Solas scowled at her but said nothing other than huffing with what Ellana interpreted as indignation.

Ellana shifted, trying to find a better position to ease the constant pressure and aching in her back as Lyris took advantage of Sera's surprising comfort with the situation and put her to work gathering supplies. Surprisingly, after the initial suspicion, Sera didn't resist Lyris taking charge of the scene and swiftly moved to do as she'd been told. By the time the next contraction hit, Lyris had coordinated their group into a more cohesive unit with the sole goal of comforting Ellana through the wave of pain. She and Dorian applied counter pressure to Ellana's back and used magic to ease the discomfort there while Solas, with his more powerful mana reserves, worked on her belly. Sera brought her water to drink and distracted her with jokes or crude tales as time dragged on, marked by one contraction at a time.

The sun had set before Mathrel and Abelas arrived with a gaggle of Dalish elves in their wake. Mathrel and Abelas stayed just at the threshold to the room while Mahanon, Ellana's mother Ashani, and a handful of other clan Lavellan members rushed inside.

"Asamalin," Mahanon called to her, stopping at the foot of her bed and leaning forward to touch her ankle, only to let out a little gasp and withdraw his hand as if burned when his eyes took in the silver glint of the chainmail she still wore over her upper body. "You're still wearing _chainmail?"_

"What?" her mother gawped, pressing forward to stand near where Solas was still sitting. "Truly, Lana? Did you expect you'd be able to fight even now?"

"You never know," Ellana quipped, forcing a smile despite the pressurized aching in her back that never went away, contraction or no. She gripped her belly with one hand, grunting as she sat up to better see everyone who'd come storming into her room and her jaw dropped as she saw far more than she'd expected—including numerous men who had no discernible reason to have come for a birth. She was about to protest when she saw that all of them carried gifts in their arms. Her cheeks warmed with gratitude then and she let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

"We hoped we weren't too late," her Keeper said, smiling from the opposite side of the bed, near where Lyris and Dorian sat. "Gifts like these should have been bestowed on you before the birth and labor. Ir abelas."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about," Ellana told her, eyes burning with emotion at the sight of her clan members' smiling faces. "I'm just glad you're all here."

"Are _all_ of you staying?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow. "Because I'm not sure there's enough air left in here for all of us."

"Right `bout that," Sera grumbled, nose wrinkling at the excess of "elfy" elves all around. "Huffin and puffin and pushin a kid out I can handle, but this many elfy elves?" She snorted. "I'll be in the hallway—if I can even get to the door."

Ellana was about to say something in reprimand but a contraction gripped her, robbing her of her voice before she could speak. As she breathed through it, eyes clamped shut and teeth gnashing, she felt magic flow from all three mages attending her, Dorian and Lyris behind and Solas at her front. But then she also felt another hand reach for hers, squeezing with surprising strength. As the pain gradually faded again she recognized her mother and smiled with relief.

"Mamae," she said, blinking moisture from her eyes. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Of course I'm here," she said, a playful note of reprimand in her voice. "I wouldn't miss this for anything. Now…" She stepped closer and motioned at Solas. "Please, hahren, I think it'd be best if you received the clan's gifts on Ellana's behalf so that we can clear the room and I can examine her."

Solas' brows knit as he glanced between mother and daughter, lips twisting up and then down as if he couldn't make up his mind whether to do as he'd been told or argue. Finally Ellana reached out for his hand and squeezed it. "You won't be missing anything, emma lath. Mamae wouldn't let you miss the birth."

Still appearing reluctant, Solas nodded. "Ma nuvenin, vhenan." He rose from his seat and edged past her mother to usher the clan from the room and into the hall.

As Rinaya took Mahanon's place at the foot of her bed, Ellana's mother gestured at Dorian and Lyris. "You must leave as well. I can hardly send the father from the room and leave you both."

Lyris made no protests as she left the bed, moving for the door with a last nod to Ellana.

Dorian scowled as he watched Lyris go, huffing indignantly. "But Sera gets to stay?"

"No," Sera grumbled, shaking her head violently enough that her blond hair flopped. "No, I don't. I'm leaving, like I said, yeah?"

Dorian sighed. "Oh, all right." He let Sera tug him away from the bed and out the door to the hallway beyond, slamming the door after they exited.

Alone now except for her mother and Rinaya, Ellana felt the sudden silence as a physical weight pressing down on her and realized suddenly these two women hadn't pushed everyone else out just to examine her. She frowned, looking between them and seeing their tight, worried expressions. "What's wrong?"

"Mahanon told us you ran away from…" Rinaya shook her head, fidgeting. "From hahren."

Her mother brushed a tender hand over her cheek, smoothing back the few strands of hair that'd fallen onto her sweaty skin. "Has he mistreated you? Hurt you?"

"We…" Ellana licked her lips, struggling to think of a concise and yet accurate way to describe it through the ongoing distraction of pain from her back. "…had a rather large disagreement. Regarding what he did here when he took Halamshiral."

"But Halamshiral is ours," Rinaya said with a hard note in her words. "He did the right thing. Mahanon said you were constantly under attack. The empress aimed to kill you both. Hahren showed great restraint in sparing her life and letting her free."

"Hundreds of people died," Ellana snarled, feeling heat spread through her. "We didn't need to take it this way. We could have just asked the Inquisition to escort us from the city. The Chantry and Inquisition together would've overruled Celene and forced her to end the sham peace talks. We would have been _fine._ "

"But Halamshiral would not be ours then," Rinaya insisted. "Hahren was clever and gave the shemlen what they deserved for daring to—"

"He didn't consult me," Ellana protested, raising her voice. "And taking Halamshiral the way he did will have made us look like villains to the rest of Thedas and strip us of allies. Not all of the People are inside the Emerald Graves. There are thousands still outside our protection and the humans will take out their wrath on them.

Rinaya shrugged. "City elves. If they were smart they would have fled to join us months ago."

"We are _all_ of the People," Ellana snarled, glaring at her sister-in-law. "You have no right to judge them as less than the Dalish."

Rinaya's blue eyes widened as she shook her head. "I'm not, Lana. I'm just—"

"Enough," Ellana's mother scolded the other elven woman with a wave of her hand. Looking to Ellana, she said sadly, "Rinaya is worrying about your actions drawing hahren's ire to our clan. As if he will banish any who disagrees with him from childish spite."

Ellana let out a brittle laugh, eyeing Rinaya with surprise. "Is that what you're afraid of? Truly? Have you _seen_ the way Mahanon and Solas get on?"

Sighing, Rinaya's shoulders slouched and her head drooped. "Ir abelas, Lana." After a moment she flashed a slight smirk at Ellana. "I _have_ heard the way Han talks about him," she said, using Mahanon's nickname.

"What matters here is if you are happy and comfortable," her mother said, again caressing her, then wiping with a cluck of her tongue at the sweat lining her brow. "Has he redeemed himself? Apologized?"

Ellana swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes."

Now Rinaya chuckled, gripping the bedpost as she grinned. "To think of the Dread Wolf humbling himself to you is pretty funny, Lana."

Despite her lingering irritation with her sister-in-law, Ellana grinned and laughed. "We'll have to come up with a new legend to account for Fen'Harel's humbler side." As Rinaya returned her grin, Ellana started to add something but gasped as another contraction hit her instead. She fumbled for her mother's hands, gripping them as hard as she could while her heart pounded against her chest and the pain swelled to obliterate everything else.

She groaned as it gradually lifted, but the back pain remained agonizing. "I…don't know how I can keep this up," she admitted as she found tears on her cheeks. "It… _really_ hurts."

Rinaya laughed. "Tell us something we don't know."

"You will endure, ma ashalan," her mother said, tenderly brushing her tears away with a thumb. "Now, we must get you up and undressed." She frowned with an expression of classic maternal disapproval. "You are _not_ giving birth wearing chainmail. It's no wonder you're so miserable and it's still early. This is not _hard_ labor, da'len."

"It's only going to get worse. _Much_ worse," Rinaya put in.

Ellana groaned. _"Why_ did you have to tell me that?"

* * *

Solas smoothed his right palm over the dark gray-black fur of the great bear pelt, admiring its softness and the fine, smoothed edges. It held a musty scent and the faint odor of wood smoke from the fires that must've burned nearby as it was prepared. When he looked up at the man who'd given him the gift—Lerand—his smile was genuine.

"Fine work," he praised. "And an impressive kill. Ellana and I fought several great bears during our time in the Inquisition and they were ever the challenge."

Lerand grinned. "Ma serannas, hahren." He dipped his head in a little bow. "Mahanon told me you can never have enough bedding once there's a little one around. They're always making a mess—especially one that's related to Lana." The young warrior's brown eyes glazed slightly with affection as he went on. "She was always a troublemaker, even when we were knee high to a halla. Did she or Mahanon ever tell you about the time she got into the crafter's pigments and painted on all the halla and the aravels?"

Solas arched an eyebrow, his smile widening. "No, I have not heard this tale." He wondered if Lerand recalled trying to tell him about killing a bear with Ellana in some kind of quest that went awry and ended with them cleaning halla dung as punishment. Was this gift of a great bear pelt a purposeful reference to that misadventure?

Snorting, Lerand stifled his laughter. "Fenedhis, Deshanna was _so_ mad! She forbid Ellana ever touching paint again."

"All right, da'len," an older, gruffer voice spoke up then and Solas saw an old man shoulder Lerand aside. The old man was at once familiar with his large ears so reminiscent of his animal nickname-sake—the fennec fox. "Hahren," the old man greeted Solas. "A pleasure to see you again." He bit his lip. "One I did not expect to have."

"Negan," Solas said, feeling something warm and joyous swell inside him. Negan had been dying in the fall with a disease of the lungs. Clan Lavellan's healer had not expected him to survive the winter. Yet, thanks to Ellana's plan, he'd been still alive when the clan reached the Emerald Graves and the restored Fade had worked its wonders on the old man. He was still wrinkled and gray, but his brown eyes glimmered with life and his knuckles were no longer knobby with age and his skin looked firm and healthy. When he spoke, his voice was stronger than Solas remembered and he stood erect and supple like an unruly sapling, ready to endure another thousand years.

"I would be dead if not for you and Ellana," Negan said and then chuckled. "Dead twice over without Ellana, actually."

_More than you know,_ Solas thought. His own plans would not have restored the Fade soon enough to save the old hunting master. Negan would be bones now, a soulless body rotting into the dirt, if not for Ellana's stubborn insistence to forge ahead with Mythal's plans. His heart ached with gratitude for her, a lump of emotion forming in his throat and tightening his chest.

"We owe you a great debt," Negan went on, solemn and with a touch of moisture in his eyes. "More than we can ever repay…" Negan shifted slightly and then pulled off the pack from his back, holding it with one hand as he rummaged with the other. "But I had hoped to show some of my gratitude to you both on this great day with my gift." He pulled out a forest green bolt of thick cloth that Solas recognized as being the surcoat of Dalish scout armor, but it'd been modified in a way he couldn't immediately puzzle out.

As Negan handed it to him, the old man must've seen the confusion on Solas' face and chuckled. "Ir abelas, hahren. I should have realized its uses would not be readily apparent to one who has not lived surrounded by hunters who are also mothers."

Pointing to the leather drawstrings along the sides of the surcoat to bring Solas' attention to them, Negan then mimed tugging with one hand while the other curled away from his chest. As Solas continued to stare at him, baffled and failing to understand the motions, the old man gave up and chuckled. "It is for breastfeeding," he said bluntly.

Now Solas' mouth opened in a startled O-shape and a hot blush stole over his cheeks. He cleared his throat, taking the surcoat back with a respectful dip of his head. "Forgive my foolishness, lethallin. You are correct that I have had very little experience with such things."

Negan smirked. "You will soon rectify that, hahren." He dipped his head again in another little bow. "I wish you and Ellana all the best. I will be eagerly awaiting the moment I have the pleasure of meeting your little one. Perhaps one day I will get to teach your da'len how to hunt just as I taught Ellana."

Solas smiled warmly and returned the small bow-like dip of his head. "Dareth shiral, lethallin."

More of clan Lavellan followed, each bestowing at least one gift on Solas until soon he had a heap of various goods behind him from the great bear pelt to the Dalish scout armor modified for breastfeeding, to the proliferation of nappies, swaddling blankets, and baby clothes. Solas thanked each person as he received the gift, smiling with genuine gratitude at their generosity and thoughtfulness and trying to quash the faint guilt churning in the back of his mind at how bitter he'd been toward the Dalish simply for the way they'd erroneously remembered the past—and himself.

_They will remember us differently now,_ he thought and tried not to feel troubled by the way some of the elves stared at him with wonder and awe, their reverence for him a frustrating reminder of Elvhenan. The slaves he'd freed had deified him, no matter how often he tried to repeat that he was not a god. If they hadn't known Ellana, hadn't raised her so they'd seen her paint halla or enrage her father by trying to elope with Lerand on a bear hunting expedition, and all the other trivial, funny stories that made her a _person_ , they might've started deifying her as well. Would his child one day face the same danger? What if his child claimed the mantle of a god someday, despite Solas' wishes?

He pushed such thoughts out of his mind as idle and fear-based—the niggling anxieties of a man facing the reality that his life would never be his own alone beyond this day. He would be a father, bound forever by blood to this world of Tranquil where the Veil still held back the Fade over most of Thedas. He would never be He Who Hunts Alone again, and any mistakes he made would invariably affect them.

The Forgotten One, Banal'anaris' oath echoed in his mind: _She will curse you with her dying breath. Your child will never know you and deny its heritage in shame, bowed and broken as a slave in Tevinter._ The fear demon he'd met in the Fade only a few nights ago also whispered again through him: _You kill those closest to you._

As Solas watched Abelas escort most of the visitors from clan Lavellan away, leaving him in the hallway outside the room where Ellana still labored, a sense of cold dread spread through him. Dorian, Sera, Mahanon, and Rainier were in the room adjacent to Ellana's and had left the door open, letting him hear their quiet, idle chatter. The hallway was dark with only a few candles lit. Rubbing his face for a moment as he tried to dispel the anxiety churning in his guts, he cast a veilfire orb with his other hand and watched it float toward the ceiling. The white-green light clashed with the gold-yellow from the candles in the wall sconces, glinting against the gilded trim and decadent paneling.

A swift tread thumped from the far end of the hallway and Solas tensed, turning to stare down the approaching visitor. His stomach clenched, sinking to the floor as he recognized Var and saw the Elvhen rogue's face was pinched and grim. The veilfire glittered on the sweat lining his brow in small beads. "Fen'Harel," he called, puffing and breathless as he jogged nearer. "I bring grave news."

"Yes?" he asked, squaring his shoulders and raising his head as his spine stiffened, ignoring the cold tremor that coursed through him. "Dirthera." _Tell._

"Dalish scouts report campfires to the north," Var panted as soon as he was close enough not to yell.

Solas inhaled sharply, closing his eyes and turning his head away as he clenched his jaw. "I see." The chatter from the other room had ceased, going quiet as the two humans and two elves listened. "An army?" he asked.

"An advance force," Var said. "Or so they think. Maybe a hundred men they guess."

"Under what banner?" Solas asked, looking back at Var.

"It was dark," Var stammered, shaking his head and shrugging. "The scouts couldn't tell with certainty. The encampment is still a hard day's march away, but there were horses so we could see them by noon tomorrow would be my guess."

One constant advantage Solas' forces had over all others in Thedas was the use of Dreamers. He didn't need to question Var to know how the rogue had come across this information—it'd be from Zevanni. She'd touched base with her own scout leaders using the Fade, just as Solas would be doing about now if this had been a normal night.

"An advance force," Solas repeated, his mind spinning the details around, slipping pieces together. "And mounted." He grunted. "I doubt the Orlesians could respond this quickly. It must be Inquisition or Chantry Templars."

"But only a hundred of them?" Var asked, making a face somewhere between confusion and disgust. "Could they truly underestimate us so terribly?"

"No," Solas said, frowning. "This is a courtesy given to us by Divine Victoria and Lady Nightingale. The advance force will most likely demand that we surrender unconditionally or face annihilation."

Even in the poor lighting Solas could see Var's face pale, his eyes widening. Lips pinching into a hard line, the rogue's gaze drifted to the closed door of Ellana's room and in the silence that'd descended between them Solas could hear the murmured female voices followed by a small, strangled cry of pain. Solas' throat tightened at the sound of it, his muscles snapping taut and the knot in his guts growing. Why did this have to happen _now?_ Couldn't the Divine and the Inquisition wait just a few more days?

"Zevanni told me Lady Lavellan has returned," Var said, eyes flicking to Solas with something akin to desperation. "But…she's not well…?"

"Our child is coming," Solas confirmed, heart pounding and voice tight.

"We don't have the Fade," Var said emphatically. "We can fend off a hundred Templars or Inquisition soldiers, I think, but we'll lose people. It'd be a waste."

"If the time comes and we must fight these hundred men, I will dispense with them," Solas told him.

Var frowned, brow knitting with worry. "Can you handle a hundred Templars with the Veil in place?"

"Yes," Solas replied without hesitation. "With a few others for backup." In truth it might be somewhat taxing. He could petrify a few dozen in rapid succession but with the Veil stifling him he'd reach mana burnout and be a weak, shaky mess for a few minutes while he recovered. The bigger question was whether Ellana would approve. What was he to do if he couldn't consult with her because she was unconscious or thoroughly distracted and indisposed?

"Should I tell Zevanni?" Var asked.

Solas nodded. "I would ask for her aid in fighting them if it becomes necessary." He'd need other mages nearby, able to keep a strong barrier over him in case he reached burnout and found himself vulnerable. Zevanni was the second most powerful mage in his forces and the foci's designated carrier, the ideal choice as backup, even if her counsel was less than wise and her bloodlust a tad overwhelming.

"Good," Var said with a nod of his own. "I'll relay it to her." He started to back away, ready to pivot and dash away, but halted as his gaze slid to the door of the room Ellana labored in. With a grimace, he said, "I hope the child comes quickly and safely…" He smiled. "Fen'Harel enansal."

"Ma serannas," Solas thanked him with a tight smile. As he watched Var hurry away Solas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A thump of footsteps came from the room with the open door to his left, adjacent to Ellana's. Glancing up, Solas saw Mahaon's grim face in the doorway, leaning out and staring at him.

"An attack is coming?" he asked.

"That has not been determined yet," Solas replied, cagey. Twisting at the waist, he looked to the pile of gifts clan Lavellan had given him and sighed. "Fenedhis. The timing of this is…"

"Obnoxious?" Mahanon supplied, arching an eyebrow. "Irritating? Frightening?"

"Yes," Solas growled. He moved to the gifts and knelt, grabbing several swaddling blankets, nappies, and the breastfeeding surcoat Negan had given them. As he stood again Mahanon made a little noise to catch his attention and left the doorway, striding to him as he pulled something he'd been wearing beneath his robes off and over his head, extending it to Solas.

Mahanon said, "This is my gift. It's made of halla skin, so it's as soft as silk. Lana will love it and I'm sure your baby will too. Rinaya wouldn't leave our aravel without hers."

Solas did some juggling with the other items he held, tucking some beneath his arm so he could take the proffered gift. It was a sling, as soft to the touch as Mahanon had promised, as pale as freshly fallen snow. Solas smiled, immediately seeing the value in such a practical gift. "Thank you, lethallin."

The younger man nodded. "It's my pleasure." Then, smirking, he jerked his head toward the closed door. "Now, get in there." He fidgeted a moment before adding, "Lethallin."

Smiling warmly, Solas replied, "Yes…falon."

Mahanon beamed back at him. "Falon."

Solas crossed the hallway and opened the door to the bedroom, slipping in gingerly. Closing the door behind him, he heard Ashani and Rinaya's voices singing softly in elven, a lullaby he'd heard before echoing in the Fade. The simple beauty of their gentle voices sent a shiver of awe through him, prickling his skin in gooseflesh. The room was dark now except for candles lit in sconces by the bed. A faint scent of sweat lingered in the air, intermixed with something salty and sweet. Ashani sat on the bed beside Ellana, stroking her forehead in a slow repeating motion while Rinaya busied herself mixing a greenish powder into a porcelain teacup, stirring it with her finger.

As Solas stepped forward Ellana gasped and writhed, hands fisting in the bedspread. She shook with pain and the sight of it made something inside Solas' own chest hurt with sympathy. He'd never attended a birth before, ever. In his village he'd been too young and not inclined toward the healing arts at the time, so the chance had never come up. Most of his life had been spent alone in the wilderness, communing with spirits rather than other elves. Once he'd joined Arlathan's court he'd had occasion to interact with expectant mothers, but never would've attended one as he wasn't the father. Mythal had even given birth twice while he served as her general, but he'd never even held the babes, let alone tried to comfort her during labor. What was he supposed to _do?_

He hurried to set the gifts he'd brought down on a nearby dresser and moved to the opposite side of the bed from where the women were at work, sliding over the bedspread as subtly as possible to avoid disturbing Ellana. She didn't seem to notice him, continuing to shudder as pain wracked her. He noted that she no longer wore her armor at all but instead was dressed in a pale nightgown that clung loosely on her frame.

He caught Ashani's eye and asked quietly, "How is she?"

"Exhausted," she answered with a small smile. "But she's strong and the little one is robust. We've given her an infusion of herbs to sedate her so she can get some rest."

Solas winced. "She can sleep through this?" He laid a palm over her back and called on his mana, willing it to ease some of her pain.

Ellana shuddered, mumbling something that might've been gratitude. Her eyelids fluttered and her muscles relaxed once more as the contraction passed.

Ashani chuckled quietly, her gaze tender as she looked back to Ellana and began stroking her forehead again. "It's not good sleep, but it's rest. The labor is stalling. That can happen when the mother is too stressed. Rinaya and I will give her a few hours of rest and then dose her with snakeroot and papoose root."

Frowning, Solas searched his memory, trying to place the herbs and failing. Their names had either changed over time or they were restricted to use with pregnancy or other female ailments. Despite not knowing the herbs in question, he could easily guess their intent. "To speed the labor?" he asked.

Ashani nodded. "Works like a charm."

Drawing in a deep breath, Solas asked, "How long?"

Though he'd tried to keep his voice even and unaffected, something in his expression must've given away his urgency because both Ashani and Rinaya shot him confused looks. Ashani said, "Babies come on their own schedules, hahren. That is just the way of things."

"Has something happened?" Rinaya asked, setting the drink she'd mixed onto the nightstand beside Ellana's mother.

Solas closed his eyes, trying to fight away the icy lump in the pit of his stomach. "Scouts report a force of one hundred men camped about half a day's ride outside the city. I suspect they are the vanguard of a larger force."

"We can fight a hundred," Rinaya murmured, her voice tight and cautious. The light from the candles lit her face harshly, half in shadow and half in orange-yellow.

"Yes," he agreed wearily, shoulders slumping. "But there may be several thousand behind them. We can never fight so many without the Fade." He stared at Ellana, seeing the too-rapid rise and fall of her chest and the sweat lining her brow.

"Tomorrow," Ashani answered. "My guess is your child will be born tomorrow."

Solas scowled and shook his head. "Yes, of course—right as I am needed elsewhere."

"It could be sooner," Ashani said, her tone one that was clearly trying to console him with a reassuring smile.

"I hope it is," Rinaya put in. "For all our sakes."

* * *

By dawn Ellana was on her feet, pacing the room and panting with one arm over her mother and the other around Solas' shoulders. He had to stoop to be on a more even level with the two women but made no complaints as they walked in a continuous circuit around the room. The walking had been her mother's idea while Rinaya laid out linens and then scrambled to haul water in for a bath. Sera reappeared to help as well, looking bleary eyed and sleepy.

While they walked Solas explained the report of the advance force, mounted and likely on its way even that very moment. Ellana spat curses before halting to tense up and puff her way through another contraction. When it finally passed, leaving her sweaty and shaky, she cursed again. "Fenedhis. Creators dammit."

She didn't miss the slight look Solas gave her at the oath and it incensed her, boiling her blood at once. "What? You can rail against me about how there are no creators and they were just miserable sods like all the rest of us but— _shit…"_ She gasped. "Another one? Already? Andraste's flaming—argh…"

"Andraste's flaming knickers," Sera finished for her sniggering as she walked by with a bucket of steaming water in her arms. "That's a good one, yeah?"

"Let it all out, ma ashalan," her mother encouraged. "But remember to breathe."

Groaning as the contraction eased, Ellana shot a glare at her mother. "What in the great beyond was in that damned tea you gave me?"

"You gave her the snakeroot and papoose?" Solas asked, eyebrows raised with surprise.

"What?" Ellana asked, baring her teeth. "Isn't papoose a laxative?"

"Actually I didn't give you anything, Lana," she said with a small smirk. "I was going to, but things are picking up nicely now so there's no need."

"If it will make this go faster—give me the fucking tea," Ellana snarled as they started walking again in their circuit around the room. "I don't have any bloody time for this."

"Spending all that time around humans has made you swear like one of them," Rinaya said as she passed by, also carrying a steaming bucket of water. She crossed paths with Sera as the archer emerged with her now empty bucket and trotted back out the door.

"Shut up," Ellana snapped, head spinning. Her knees were quaking, forcing her to grip even harder on the two people supporting her. "Shit. Dammit. Why does my back hurt so much?"

"What were you going to name my grandchild?" her mother asked, crooning in an upbeat singsong voice. "I've heard you think it's going to be a boy."

"I don't know, mamae, I'll worry about naming him when Divine Victoria isn't trying to raze Halamshiral," she grumbled breathlessly. Her next step faltered as she felt another contraction starting. "Fenedhis lasa," she spat, panting and crunching up as the pain struck in a blinding wave. This time the urge to push hit her and she whimpered, resisting as her mother had warned her.

As she swam out of the pain again she heard Solas calling to her, "Vhenan? Are you all right?" He was pallid on her left, dark bags beneath his gray-blue eyes. Irrational anger made her seethe, gnashing her teeth.

"Fen'Harel's balls," she cursed and grinned as he flinched. "This is all your fault, you know." Her mouth and throat were dry, lungs heaving as she struggled to breathe around the enormous pressure of her distended belly. And it _was_ all his fault.

"Now we're making real progress," her mother said, laughing. "She's reached the 'irrationally-angry-with-the-child's-father' phase of labor. Don't mind her, hahren."

"Feels like I need to push," she told her mother, still panting. She dragged her feet as they started up the circuit again. " _Please_ say I can push, mamae."

"I'll need to check, but almost certainly not. You still have hours left yet," her mother said with a sympathetic sigh.

"Fuck," she cursed, blustering as her head hung and her stomach roiled. "I feel sick. I might retch."

"I'm glad I didn't give you the tea then," her mother commented with a humming sound. "It sounds as though you're progressing very nicely now. But still, no pushing until I say so."

"Please?" Ellana begged, ready to sob. Her eyes burned and her head seemed swollen. She was about to plead further when another pain seized her and she crunched up as the urge to push smashed into her yet again. Her knees shook, trying to drop her into a squat. She felt the cool touch of Solas' magic on her belly, helping reduce the agony and as she groaned with even the slight relief she decided she could still love him despite what he'd done to her—bringing her to this current state of being as a virtual whale in unending cramping agony with no end in sight.

"Thank you," she panted. "Emma lath." She squeezed his shoulder and tried to smile at him, but her cheek muscles were too exhausted, heavy and twitching like every other part of her.

"It is the least I can do," he murmured, his eyes crinkling with sympathy.

"Yes," she agreed. "Since this is your fault."

"You've said that already, ma ashalan," her mother chided with a cluck of her tongue. "Turn your ire elsewhere and give hahren a break." She motioned with her free hand toward the bed, indicating Solas should help her walk Ellana that way, breaking the circuit.

Anticipating what was about to happen, Ellana groaned. "Why don't I go take a bath instead?"

"Suledin, ma ashalan," her mother said in her soothing voice, hushing her. "This will be over before you know it and then you will have your precious little one."

Ellana's complaints died on her tongue as she let herself consider the baby and felt something other than pain stir—an anxious, anticipatory excitement bubbling through her chest. "Sylvun," she told her mother as they led her to the bed and helped her sit. "That was what we were going to call him."

"And if it's not a him?" her mother asked as she knelt in front of Ellana, pressing forward to probe between her legs.

Ellana hissed with pain, feeling Solas' hot hand on her shoulder squeezing. She fumbled for his hand, returning the squeeze and answering her mother's question in a strained voice. "Renan."

"And where did you come up with those names?" her mother asked, withdrawing her hand and standing upright, a wide smile over her lips.

"They were my parents' names," Solas answered for her.

Ellana's mother looked at him, cocking her head with interest. "Forgive me," she said, "I never considered…"

"That I had parents?" Solas asked and chuckled. "They did not live on in myth as I did, but yes, I was not born of Fade ether."

She nodded, the bright smile reappearing. "Well, those are very good names. And, even better, you're going to need them sooner rather than later." Her hazel eyes locked onto Ellana as she beamed. "You're almost there. I'd say after the bath you may be ready to push."

"Andraste's tits," Ellana snarled and then gasped, clutching at her belly as yet another contraction hit her. She panted, huffing rapidly as the urge to push made her crunch up again as well. When it was over she let out a long breath and added another oath for good measure. "Elgar'nan's thrice-damned hairy ass."

Solas snorted. "Vhenan…"

"What?" she snapped, glaring. Then she transitioned the venomous look to her mother. "That was _not_ good news just now. You should give me the tea so we can—" She gasped, breaking off and closing her eyes as the pain in her back intensified. "Ow." She rubbed her face, groaning. "Just…let me into that damned tub."

As they hauled her upright, Ellana groaned, sagging with exhaustion and shaking, coated with sweat all over. "I'm not sure I can do this, mamae," she said, losing some of her vigor as the ache in her back continued.

"You'll find the strength," her mother crooned. "Suledin, ma ashalan."

* * *

**Next Chapter** (modified to be gender-neutral for spoiler protection…):

Her mother held the baby, tapping at its back, her face set in a look of fierce concentration. The baby made a weak noise, almost a sort of sneeze, then it began to kick and squirm as it let out a louder, lusty cry. Ellana's mother laughed with joy as she turned the baby over and Ellana was able to see its tiny face for the first time. Scrunched and red from birth, still slicked with fluids, it had a full head of dark hair and long, narrow ears with proud points.

"The baby has your ears, hahren," Rinaya said, laughing. "But where did that hair come from?"


	45. Fen'Harel Ishalen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana gives birth, but Solas has little time to enjoy fatherhood as he heads out to face the Templar riders sent to challenge them.

By the time the midmorning sun streamed in through the windows, painting the opposite wall of the room in gold to match the gilded trimmings, Ellana felt as though she'd sat on fire cast by Elgar'nan himself. The contractions were nearly constant, an unending sea of pain that had her babbling and incoherent, doused in sweat and biting out unintelligible curses intermixed with pleading for someone, _any_ one to just make it stop.

At her mother's prodding instruction, Ellana had taken up a squatting position in the tub with linens beneath her for padding and catching any mess. She shook with effort and exhaustion, every muscle straining with each contraction now as she bore down with her full strength. She gripped the sides of the tub, knuckles white and head swimming as she gnashed her teeth.

Solas sat at the edge of the tub behind her, his hands on her shoulders to help support her. His hands were hot and damp even through the fabric of the nightgown she wore. He was mostly silent, except for the soothing caress of his magic, taking the edge off her pain. Ellana's mother, meanwhile, was positioned in front of her, hands on her knees and speaking in an endless stream of encouragement and praise. Rinaya tended her with water to wet her mouth and throat occasionally but otherwise stood by, tense as she waited with a bundle of swaddling under one arm.

"Breathe, darling," her mother said, tucking loose strands of Ellana's hair behind her ear. She was still damp from the bath she'd spent several hours lounging in, trying to relax. Though she'd been in a lot of pain throughout that bath, Ellana found herself wanting to return to it—anything was preferable to the feeling that she'd sat on the sun and it was cooking her flesh.

"I want back," she babbled, breathing harshly. "Just let me stop…" She cried out as another contraction snapped her body taut like a bowstring. Instinct made her push, cutting off the cry of pain. It felt as if she was dying, but surely she should've already died by now if that were the case.

"Push, push, push," her mother chanted. "You're close, Lana. You can do this." She dropped as low as she could, peeking between Ellana's legs and beneath the nightgown. When she sat upright again, red in the face and grinning, she exclaimed, "The little one is crowning. Just a few more pushes, ma ashalan…"

Rinaya giggled. "Hahren looks as though he's going to pass out."

Ellana vaguely considered trying to look at Solas to see if that was true but a second later another contraction smashed into her, wiping the idea away. She clutched the tub, the tendons in her arms flaring as she fought to maintain her squatting position. It was the most comfortable one she'd found and what her mother recommended. But nothing could cool the fire between her legs.

As the urge to push compressed her again, Ellana bore down with everything she had. The contraction eased slightly and she felt the cooling power of Solas' magic as his hands worked, one behind her and the other at the front. She panted, half-collapsing as the contraction and the urge left her.

"I can't," she said, pleading and shaking her head. "Can't take it, mamae…"

"You can, ma ashalan," her mother murmured, hands on her knees as she dropped low to peek between her legs again and sat up with the same bright grin beaming. "This is the one. Your little one's coming with this next push. You can do it. One more big push, darling." Her hazel eyes flew to Solas behind Ellana's back. "Are you ready to become babae, hahren?"

"Yes," Solas answered, barely breathing the single word.

Ellana ground her teeth together as the next contraction built and pushed when the urge came, puffing and straining. Her mother dropped low, reaching between her legs and Ellana dimly felt fingers brush her inner thighs. The fire abruptly eased and something shifted, slipping from inside her. She let out a cry, slumping as the urge suddenly gave out and a strange euphoria made her slump, dizzy.

Shoulders heaving as she panted, she fell backward and out of the squatting position until she rested against the cool porcelain. Solas' hands on her gripped tighter and she heard him inhale sharply, a tiny little gasp. Lifting her heavy head, she saw the tiny reddish shape in her mother's hands and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. She began sobbing, choking as she reached out, desperate to touch the tiny infant, to see its face.

Her mother held the baby face down, tapping at its back, her features set in a look of fierce concentration. The baby made a weak noise, almost a sort of sneeze, then it began to kick and squirm as it let out a louder, lusty cry. Ellana's mother laughed with joy as she turned the baby over and Ellana was able to see its— _his—_ tiny face for the first time. Scrunched and red from birth, still slicked with fluids, he had a full head of dark hair and long, narrow ears with proud points.

"He has your ears, hahren," Rinaya said, laughing. "But where did that hair come from?"

"From his mother, of course," Ellana's mother said, chuckling.

The pain wracking her utterly forgotten, Ellana sat forward and reached again for her newborn. "Mamae, let me have him." She was shaking, tears still running unheeded from her eyes.

Her mother smiled as she carefully passed the tiny infant into Ellana's arms. "Lay him on your chest. Let him feel your warmth and hear your heartbeat."

She clutched the tiny boy to her chest, closing her eyes at the surge of peace that rushed through her at his body heat against her. His cries continued, strong and defiant—marking him as the fighter she'd always known he would be. The crush of love inside her was as overwhelming as the pain had been and her head swam, her heart still pounding as emotion continued to sting her eyes. How could she love him so intensely so soon? It was like blood magic, but with nothing nefarious about it, only wonder.

"A son," Solas whispered behind her, his voice hollow with shock. But when he spoke again it was louder, and tinged with amusement. "Just as you always predicted, vhenan."

Twisting her neck to peer at him, Ellana saw his wide, unblinking eyes were bright with moisture, lips slightly parted as he stared at the tiny body lying on her chest. The baby's cries quieted into small wavering whimpers, drawing Ellana's full attention to him again. His legs kicked and his fists grabbed at her nightgown, lifting his head in jerky motions before collapsing again.

Ellana's mother laughed. "I do believe mamae and babae are both smitten." She motioned at Rinaya to come forward with the swaddling. "We must sever the cord and get him cleaned up and warm."

She reached out and took the baby with the confidence and speed of long experience, cradling him as he squirmed. Separated from his mother's body heat, the baby squalled again, loud and lusty, his little face still pinched tight from birth. The sound made Ellana's eyes fill with tears and she had to quash the panicky fear that tightened her chest and made her heart race. She sensed Solas tensing as well, though he remained silent, clearly trusting the two women.

Despite the exhaustion making her eyelids feel like leaden weights, Ellana watched as they cleaned him and used pins to clamp the cord before Rinaya produced a short knife and cut it. It seemed to take forever, and the entire time Ellana fought back the anxious desire to demand they stop and give the baby back, but eventually her mother cradled the now swaddled, cleaned baby. Bound by blankets, the baby's crying grew feeble until he stopped altogether, relaxing.

"Would you like to hold him?" her mother asked, gazing not at Ellana but at Solas.

He didn't answer verbally; instead he left his position behind Ellana and moved to her mother, arms outstretched to accept the baby. She passed the bundle, guiding his hands to protect the baby's head and warning him aloud to do the same. Cradling the baby in the crook of his left arm, Solas stared down at the tiny face, rapt with awe. His right hand rose to touch his son's nose, tracing from the furrowed brows to the tip. A slow grin spread over his lips and when he spoke it was barely above a whisper: "He has my nose."

Ellana's throat was thick with emotion. "I knew it," she said, voice ragged as she chuckled. "He takes after his father."

The baby squirmed, freeing one hand from the swaddling to swat at Solas' finger. The tiny fist gripped him and though Ellana wouldn't have thought it possible, Solas' grin widened. "Such strength, da'len," he said, wonderingly.

"What did I tell you?" Ellana's mother said with a laugh. "Robust. He's bigger than Mahanon, I'd wager. And Deya—but girls are usually smaller. Still, Lana's lucky he didn't tear his way out the way a half-blood would."

 _But he_ is _a half-blood,_ Ellana thought. In the long ages between Elvhenan and the Dalish, elves had changed enough that Solas had always been broader and sturdier than either the Dalish or the city elves.

As if reading her mind, Solas said, "He is Elvhen." He sucked in a shuddering breath, his finger still clasped in the baby's itty-bitty fist, and looked at Ellana with tears in his eyes. "Forgive me, vhenan," he said, voice shaking. "I fear I may never put him down."

"He'll starve if you don't let his mother nurse him," Ellana's mother said as she and Rinaya both laughed, their faces beaming with tenderness at the smitten father.

Smiling as well, Ellana sniffed too, unable to stop herself from crying again even as she tried to wipe them away. "We'll just have to learn to share him, emma lath."

"And now's the best time to start," her mother said and clucked her tongue. "Babae, give him to Lana. Nursing him will help her pass the afterbirth."

"And there's still the matter of the hundred mounted men riding this way," Rinaya reminded them all with a sigh and a frown. Ellana's mother shot Rinaya a sidelong glare and the other woman flinched at the force of it. "Ir abelas, I know that's the furthest thing from your minds now, but…"

"You're right," Solas said, his wondering smile fading as he slowly withdrew his finger from the baby's grasp. He started to move closer to Ellana and she reached out to accept the bundle from him, but Solas hesitated a beat, eyes widening as he stared down at his son. "He opened his eyes, vhenan," he told her, jaw hanging open with astonishment.

"They'll be blue right now," Rinaya said. "But they could change with time."

"Just you watch," Ellana said, smirking. "After all the hard work I did, he'll be a perfect miniature of Solas."

Solas sobered slightly, shaking his head. "I should hope not." He leaned over the tub, passing the bundle to her with careful, slow hands.

Ellana took it, astonished all over again at how light her son was and yet how strong as he squirmed. She blinked, trying to keep the stubbornly persistent tears from blurring her vision and stroked his little eyebrows, as if she could smooth away the pinched expression left from birth. When she touched his cheek the baby immediately rolled his head, lips smacking. She watched him suckle on her finger, and let out a choking, wet laugh at the pressure of the warm love inside her that obliterated everything else—the ongoing pain from her belly, her exhaustion and weakness, and the lingering threat that they'd soon be under attack.

"Let me help you feed him," her mother said, moving to be back in the tub with her, squatting and leaning forward to unbutton the top of Ellana's nightgown to free one breast. She guided Ellana, positioning the baby so that he could take her nipple into his mouth. He latched on quickly, sucking with vigor; his little mouth and tongue shockingly warm against Ellana's skin.

"There you are," her mother cooed, soft and soothing, her smile wide and tender.

As he suckled the baby peeked at her, his eyes glazed and unfocused, but they were indeed blue as Rinaya had said. Ellana pried open the swaddling, examining her son's perfect fists, his plump little arms and cheeks. She traced his pointed ears and laughed, remembering Iron Bull's question long ago during the Exalted Council about whether elves were born with that feature. Brushing his downy hair, she saw a few strands marked with gold-red.

She looked to her mother with a small cry of both joy and grief—joy at the discovery, but grief at the reminder that her father would never meet his first grandson. "There's red in his hair. Like Mahanon and Father."

"And like you." Now her mother's eyes shone bright with tears of her own. "There is no greater wonder than seeing pieces of those who have gone before be reborn in our own children."

"Yes," Solas agreed from nearby, his voice breathy. Ellana wondered how much of his parents he saw in their son's tiny little face.

A thumping came echoing through the bedroom as someone pounded on the door. A male voice called out, muffled through the walls, "Fen'Harel!"

Ellana watched as Solas sighed, his blue eyes flicking between her and their newborn son, a pained expression on his face. "I will attempt to avoid bloodshed, regardless of who has sent these men to attack us, but I cannot make—"

"Do what you have to," Ellana told him, her voice gravelly with emotion. "Don't endanger yourself, emma lath. Come back to us."

Smiling softly, Solas leaned close to her, pressing his forehead to hers a moment before pulling back and planting a kiss on her temple. "Always, vhenan," he murmured.

Then he strode to the door, slipping past Ellana's mother and Rinaya but paused at the threshold to glance over his shoulder again, brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Ellana smiled at him, feeling tears sting her eyes and love swell in her chest. When the knocking came once more, Solas left the privy and vanished into the bedroom.

"Well then," her mother said with a bright smile and a quiet clap of her hands. "Now it's time to switch to the other breast and then we can get you cleaned up!"

* * *

"They're Templars," Mathrel told him, growling as they walked together out of the winter palace. "A host of exactly one hundred humans in full armor. Their horses are armored as well." He snarled. "Fools. Do they think armoring their mounts will prevent us from using fire mines and ice?"

The palace gardens were in shambles with ceramic pots shattered and plants scorched by mage fire. There were still streaks of blood from the fighting, but Solas had seen to it that the bodies of those slain were burned in the fields outside the palace grounds and then the remains buried. The sky overhead was partly cloudy, the cottony fluff contrasting with the deep blue bits in between. It made Solas remember his son's eyes.

 _The first Elvhen born in a thousand years,_ he thought again, pride flushing him with warmth inside and out. Half-Dalish, half-Elvhen, the baby was precious for what he signified—a new beginning for the People, a union of modern elves and the Elvhen who'd survived as Solas had from ancient times. Not to mention the simple, personal wonder of staring into his own child's face after living ages alone with no blood relatives of his own. Solas had been eager and invested in his child before it was born, but while it grew inside Ellana it was just an idea, an abstract concept. The closest he'd come to truly interacting with his child was when he'd shared the child's dream in the Fade, and he'd felt a glimmer of the wonder and pride then, but it couldn't compare to the elation brimming inside him now.

"They will underestimate us," Zevanni said, dark amusement in her voice as she smirked at Mathrel. "They always do. But they'll _especially_ underestimate Fen'Harel."

Solas blinked, hearing his name and glancing to his left where Zevanni walked with her shoulders squared and her head high, strutting. She returned his gaze, lips carved in a broad grin that was almost a leer. "You're distracted," she commented, a note of teasing in her voice. "Are you certain you'll be able to handle this skirmish?"

Frowning at her, Solas said, "We may not need to fight them. If Divine Victoria is open to negotiation there may be no cause for bloodshed."

Shila, one of the most powerful Dalish Firsts who'd joined his retinue to Halamshiral for the peace talks, scoffed. "The Divine did nothing to prevent the assassination attempts on you and Lady Lavellan. She will be just as useless now."

"We shall see," Solas said, impassive as they marched out of the palace grounds and along the road that wound its way downhill toward the city below. To the north, left of Halamshiral from Solas' current vantage point, he could see the glimmering armor and banners of the mounted Templars in the field. Solas recognized the Chantry's sunburst symbol and the flaming sword of the Templar order—but every banner also carried a white flag, flapping in the breeze. The wind brought the distant sound of their whinnying horses.

"Fenedhis," Shila snarled. "The void take the damn Templars."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Zevanni quipped, laughing.

Solas let their chatter fade from his awareness again as he considered the situation. He'd left Lyris behind as a personal guard on Ellana, taking Zevanni, Mathrel, and Shila as his personal backup while sending Var out ahead to meet with the Dalish scouts who'd made contact with the vanguard of Templars approaching Halamshiral and the winter palace. The latest news he'd heard was that the scouts had deliberately allowed themselves to be seen at a close enough range that if the Templars wished they could fire arrows on them. Yet the Templars had been peaceful, raising a white flag of truce when they saw the elves. It was as Solas had suspected—the Divine wanted to offer a last chance to avoid bloodshed.

He'd dressed in armor to meet with them, complete with the wolf headdress, to be sure the humans would know they spoke with the right elf. Mathrel and Zevanni both wore Elvhen armor as well, but Shila had the robes of a Dalish First. She would be the stealthiest of them as a result and she moved with the speed afforded by her lighter armor, ranging ahead as they walked, her staff flopping at her back. Solas and the Elvhen with him didn't bother with staffs. Instead Zevanni had daggers and Mathrel his spectral blade. Solas, meanwhile, had only his mind and his magic, just the way he liked.

As they ascended the last hillock ahead of where the Templars had stopped on the open field outside of Halamshiral's protective encircling walls, Solas saw five elves crouched in the grasses—the scouts. They turned and watched Solas and his group approach, their faces tense. He recognized Var among them and quickly moved to check in with him, dropping into a squat to be on the same level as the scouts in the grass. The Templars would see them from this spot, but were too far away to hear them or loose arrows with any hope of hitting them.

"Has anything changed?" Solas asked Var.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "They know we've seen them but haven't sent a messenger to meet with us. I think they're confident you'll come to them without making them wait long."

"Do you think they'd pack up and leave if we told them now's a bad time?" Zevanni asked, smirking.

Var wrinkled his nose. "Brilliant, why didn't _I_ think of that?"

"Because you're an empty-headed nug-humper," she shot back, laughing.

"Enough," Solas snapped with a roll of his eyes. Zevanni always had an affinity for rogues and crassness. Silent for a moment while thinking, he raised his head higher to survey the Templars waiting on their horses, banners elevated and flapping in the light springtime breeze. There were more than enough of them that they could surround Solas and anyone who approached with him. That many Templars draining away their mana, muting their magic…

"Spread the scouts out around them but maintain a safe distance and be ready to attack," Solas told Var and then turned to his mages. "We cannot risk being surrounded. The Templars' abilities will be stronger the more of them there are. Should they attack, spread out and work at the fringes. I will kill as many as I can as fast as possible should it come to violence." Remembering Ellana's suggestion regarding walls, he added, "Use defensive tactics if it appears you may be surrounded—ice and fire walls, static cages…"

"Fatherhood has made you cautious," Mathrel commented, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"The desire to avoid _bloodshed_ and preserve our people has made me cautious," Solas retorted, though he could not prevent the smile that spread over his face.

"Your da'len has arrived?" Shila asked, eyebrows elevating. "Boy or girl? And is Lavellan well?"

"I have a son," Solas confirmed for her, still feeling dizzy to speak the words. "And Ellana is healthy."

"Congratulations," Var said with a warm smile. "Fen'Harel enasalin." _Dread Wolf's victory._

"Has he started casting veilfire yet?" Zevanni asked, grinning. "If you say no I'm going to be disappointed."

Solas chuckled. "He is only a few hours old, falon. I doubt even I could have cast veilfire so young." Then, hearing one of the Templar horses neigh, Solas shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand. "Do not attack them unless they attack us first. Do you understand? We must avoid conflict if we can. The humans see us as savages. Do not meet those expectations."

"And what if they want something we cannot give?" Shila asked, grumbling. "What if they demand _you_?"

Solas smiled at her, hard and icy. "Then the Dread Wolf shall take them."

* * *

"By the Maker," Rainier exclaimed, quiet and yet animated at once. "Look at those ears!" He leaned over Ellana's bedside, gently pulling aside the blankets swaddling the baby in her arms. "And how tiny he is," the warrior went on, clucking his tongue. "He's not any bigger than one of those ridiculous frilly cakes."

Ellana's mother and Rinaya hovered nearby, smiling at the retinue of companions and friends coming through to visit her. Despite the exhaustion that made her feel as though a high dragon had stepped on her, Ellana couldn't stop smiling. Her cheeks actually hurt as she tried not to laugh at Rainier's comparison—laughing was rather uncomfortable still, for obvious reasons.

Dorian sat at the foot of her bed, wearing a smirk. "I was right about _that_ at least. The ears." He sniffed, as if indignant or offended by the fact that he'd lost his wager about the baby's sex. "The offer's still open, old girl, if you ever get tired of that egghead apostate windbag, you can always join me in Tevinter. I could even adopt him as my son. Imagine the scandal! Wouldn't it be just delightful?"

Ellana laughed before she could stop herself, then grimaced. "Please, don't make me laugh right now."

Dorian went on as if she hadn't spoken, clearly enamored with the hilarity of his own idea. "The esteemed house Pavus of Minrathous inherited by an elf. Better yet, I'm picturing all the glowering in the Magisterium. He'd be sensational."

Sera giggled from where she stood just behind Rainier. "Pay good money to see their faces."

Ellana's mother, Rinaya, and Mahanon were all tense, their expressions slightly unfriendly at the current discussion. Trying to calm them, Ellana said, "He's only joking."

"No, I'm not," Dorian protested, twining his mustache with one hand. "I was being utterly serious."

Rainier laughed. "Right, well, then in all seriousness, I think that's the absolute worst plan I've ever heard."

Sera snorted. "Nah, not the worst. Might even work if you docked his ears." Immediately every other elf in the room glared daggers at her and Sera cringed, frowning back at them as she raised both hands palms up as if to ward off attack. "I mean…" She altered the pitch of her voice, taking on a note of mock-horror. "Oh no! Not his ears! By Andraste, by the Maker, how will he live without `em? Elvhen glory!"

"I stand corrected," Rainier said with a grunt, pointing at Sera. " _That_ was the absolute worst." With a shooing motion at Sera, he started to usher her toward the door. "I think visiting time is over for you just now."

"What?" Sera gawked, mouth open and brow furrowed. "What'd I do?"

As Sera left the room with Rainier shepherding her, Mahanon grumbled, "Docking his ears. Fenedhis."

Ellana sighed, realizing she'd laid both hands protectively over her baby, cradling him closer unconsciously. Making an effort to relax, she struggled to see past the maternal ferocity coloring her views. "She would never actually _do_ something like that," she told Mahanon. "But she's always been rather…difficult to get along with, regarding other elves."

"She was trying to be funny," Rinaya said. "We understand that, but I've heard of such things actually happening in the Wycome alienage."

"And in Tevinter," Dorian said, heaving a long sigh of his own. "But really, now isn't a time for gloom about the past, now is it?" He grinned. "What are you naming him, love? Might I suggest Dorian? It's a fine name, flows right off the tongue, and positively _breathes_ sophistication and charm."

Lyris, who'd been standing silently near the door, wrinkled her nose at him. "It sounds too much like _bore._ "

Everyone except Dorian laughed, though Ellana cut hers off, cringing with pain. The Tevinter mage, however, puffed out his chest like a displaying peacock, affronted by her comment. "It sounds nothing like that and you know it. It's much closer to _door_ , as in doors will open and opportunities will flow for one with such a fine name." He smirked with pride. "Naturally, just as they did for me."

"I hate to break your fantasy, Tevinter," Mahanon said with a smirk of his own. "But you're not the baby's father. They're not going to name him after you."

"I'm well aware of that," Dorian shot back, a little snappish. "But I _am_ an uncle of sorts."

Now Mahanon laughed dryly, motioning to his own chest. " _I_ am the baby's uncle."

"All right," Ellana grumbled. "I'm about to pass out I'm so tired. Either leave or keep things quiet and _civil,_ please." Looking to her mother she said, "Mamae, can you take him?"

"Of course, darling," she said, shouldering Mahanon out of the way in the authoritative, no-nonsense way of a confident mother—and grandmother twice over. She took the bundle from Ellana, letting her shift in the bed to lay down. Her mind still spun, overtired from the stress and emotion of the last day and a half, full to bursting with her son's little face, his tiny burbles and baby grunts.

"All right," Rinaya scolded in a hushed voice. "Off with you, Tevinter. Lana and the baby need their rest."

"Yes, yes," he answered, also quiet, and she felt him rise from his spot sitting at the foot of her bed. "I'll go for now, but I'm not leaving for good until I've held him at least once, because I _am_ an uncle of sorts."

If she'd had the energy Ellana would've chuckled, thinking how much Solas would simply _love_ hearing Dorian's proclamation. Exhaustion pulled her into the darkness of sleep before she could hear if any of the elves in the room made a reply.

* * *

The host of Templars stood ahead of Solas, their armor glinting in the sunlight peeking through the dour springtime clouds. They warriors had arranged themselves in a front that formed a half-circle; twenty-five men queued shoulder to shoulder atop their mounts, with three more rows of twenty-five behind them. They were well-trained and had the prideful bearing of men and women who believed their Maker was with them, protecting them in spirit.

Solas approached them with a slow tread, hands at his sides and his head elevated as he drew within archer range. Zevanni and Mathrel flanked him, but they peeled away as they came closer. Zevanni went left while Mathrel walked right. Neither Elvhen mage drew any weapons, staff or otherwise. The Templars likely assumed Zevanni was a rogue, in fact. Shila, the Dalish First accompanying him, had left his side at the start of their approach, moving with the scouts and Var instead to circle round the Templar host.

When they were near enough that they could speak without shouting overmuch, Solas halted. Zevanni and Mathrel, now at the edges of the Templar line on either end, followed suit and froze in place, body and postures tight in anticipation of battle. Solas tried to hide his own tension even as he felt over his mana core much the same way he saw the Templars laying hands on the hilts of their blades.

"Greetings," he called out, his voice smooth and even, but loud enough to be easily heard over the buffeting wind and the flapping banners the Templars carried. "What brings you to Dirthavaren?" he asked, using the elven name for the Dales—the Promise. A promise that'd been broken.

A Templar wearing golden armor complete with a bristling helmet and a red cape spread out regally over his back like a curtain, urged his horse forward a few steps. Solas bristled, fingers twitching at his side, ready to cast a barrier at the first hint of attack. The Templar—a commander, Solas guessed—dug out a small scroll from under his breastplate, fumbling with it slightly in hands made clumsy by thick armor and gloves. Unrolling it, he began to read in a rumbling, authoritative voice that echoed over the rolling, seemingly empty plains around them.

"By order of most holy Divine Victoria, the Chantry and the Templar order denounce and condemn the elven rebellion in Halamshiral and the Dales. Most Holy demands a return to order and seeks peace for Orlais, the Dales, and all of Thedas. In agreement with Lady Nightingale of the Inquisition, her holiness Divine Victoria has declared an Exalted March to reclaim Halamshiral and the Dales, and to capture or kill the elven apostate fugitive and rebel leader Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, also known as Solas."

Solas heaved a sigh as the Templar rerolled the scroll and tucked it away again. In the oppressive silence a few horses stamped their feet and armored bridles clinked. The wind whipped the nearest banner, making the thick fabric clap. The Templar commander seemed to be waiting for Solas' reaction, or perhaps he was unwilling to be the first to engage what the humans heard from the Dalish was an elven god, as much as Solas himself despised that description. Maybe Cassandra had warned the commander personally as well.

Finally the commander shifted in his saddle, leaning forward and calling out, "Have you nothing to say, Dread Wolf?"

 _Couldn't this have waited a week?_ He thought and frowned to keep himself from smirking with dry amusement. Killing Templars on the day of his son's birth was hardly the way he wanted to spend his time.

Spreading his hands in a gesture of openness, Solas said, "There is no reason we must fight this day. Empress Celene has decreed the Dales belong to the People. Andraste herself promised these lands to the elves. The Chantry had no right to break that promise and it has no right to march on us now for merely reclaiming what was stolen from us. If Divine Victoria seeks peace and restoration of order, I urge her to proceed now with caution. Why has she chosen to ignore Empress Celene's declaration? Is there no way we might achieve peace through negotiation rather than needless violence?" Pausing a moment, he dropped his voice an octave, letting the threat in it ring clear. "Consider your next move carefully, shemlen."

The commander's horse stamped its feet and tossed its head, ears flicking. It was nervous, picking up the anxiety and tension in the air.

"Most Holy believes in the Maker's mercy and has been lenient in her dealings with this uprising," the commander said. "Out of concern for innocent lives that will inevitably be lost on both sides, her holiness is willing to order the armies of the faithful to stand down on one condition."

Solas arched an eyebrow. "Which is…?"

The commander gave a slight jerk of his reins, making his horse toss its head, lips and jaw working over the bit. "The immediate surrender of Halamshiral and the winter palace to Empress Celene of Orlais." The commander's lips quirked with dark amusement as he added, "And your imprisonment, of course."

"I see," Solas said, tucking his hands behind his back. _That's two conditions, imbecile_. "I'm afraid we cannot agree to such terms. I will ask again—why has Divine Victoria ignored the empress's declaration that the Dales have returned to the People?"

"No such declaration has reached us," the commander retorted, his voice gravelly.

It was possible the army had marched before the ravens carrying the proclamation could have arrived at Val Royeaux. If so Cassandra might very well reconsider her decision to mount an Exalted March. Both she and Leliana were likely to be open to restoring an elven homeland. If he could keep the current confrontation from spiraling into a battle he'd have the greatest chance of opening up peace talks with the Divine. _Real_ peace talks.

"Then perhaps you had best retreat," Solas said with a jerk of his head in the direction of Val Royeaux. "And await the raven's arrival before you commit to any further action."

"You don't give me orders, knife-ear scum," the commander growled.

"No," Solas replied, glaring from beneath his headdress. "But I will not hesitate to give you death."

"Fool," the commander snarled, yanking on the reins. The horse grunted, eyes rolling, and stamped its feet as it pivoted sideways. The commander gestured with one armored hand at the other Templars aligned behind him. "Three of you and a handful of others hidden in the hills will take on all of us?"

Solas said nothing, merely waited with his every muscle body wide tense as bowstrings. _Don't make me kill you,_ he pleaded with the Templar silently.

"You reject the Divine's offer?" the commander demanded, still gripping the reins tightly. His face was a mask of revulsion as he stared down at Solas.

"We will not surrender lands that are rightfully ours," Solas rejoined, thrusting out his chin with defiance.

"Then you will die in the Exalted March, demon," the commander roared and raised one hand motioning at the host of Templars behind him.

Watching the gesture, Solas held his breath as his heart leapt into his throat, his hands twitching behind his back as he prepared to react to an attack. But, thankfully, the commander was merely ordering a retreat. The Templars furthest away peeled from the group, spurring their horses north toward Val Royeaux. They rode away in orderly lines, banners still flapping in the breeze. The commander was last, still glaring at Solas until the last moment when his horse sprinted after the others, kicking up clods of grass and dirt in its wake.

The Templars rode away in a thunder of hooves and the rattle of armor. Mathrel and Zevanni returned to his side after the commander left, their eyes following the human warriors as they faded into the rolling hills beyond.

"Why did you let them leave?" Zevanni asked, sounding irritable.

"They did not attack us," Solas replied simply. "And there is a chance that the Divine may rethink her choice when word of Celene's decree regarding the Dales reaches her."

Mathrel nodded with understanding. "Had we attacked she would doubtless be hostile."

"She's hostile regardless," Zevanni grumbled. "She declared an Exalted March on us."

"She may yet surprise you, falon," Solas said, turning on his heel and starting back in the direction of the winter palace. Cassandra might decide against an Exalted March once she learned Ellana had rejoined him and that they'd soon have the full power of the Fade at their disposal.

In the meantime, with the current threat dealt with, Solas had other places to be…

* * *

**Elvhen Used**

Fen'Harel Ishalen: Dread Wolf's son

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

Tucking his hands behind his back, Solas asked with an unmistakable note of irritation, "Have we so few beds in the winter palace that the both of you must sleep here?"

Dorian snorted. "As a matter of fact, yes, that's exactly it." He motioned at Rainier. "Thom and I were just waiting on you to show up and conjure us a big feather bed out of thin air." He wriggled his fingers for dramatic effect. "That is something you can do now, yes?"

Solas shifted his stance slightly, his expression impassive. "What do you need?"

"I could go for a nice ale," Rainier quipped, smirking. "If that's something you can magic up along with the bed."


	46. Restoring the Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No rest for the weary as Ellana hurries to restore Halamshiral so Solas can defend it.

The Anchor crackled as Ellana focused her mind on it, willing it to activate. The pain burned in her bones, cut at her flesh, but after the agony of childbirth Ellana did little more than wince at it. It was just after dawn the day after she'd given birth and her legs still seemed wobbly, her balance off-kilter despite the healing spells and elfroot tinctures Ellana had taken. Yet no matter how she felt this couldn't be postponed any longer with the threat of an Exalted March or an Orlesian army bearing down on them.

"Whenever you are ready, vhenan," Solas murmured from just behind her, a protective shadow as always. Abelas stood off to her right a little further away. Mahanon, Mathrel, Lyris, Shila, Samhel, and Lerand were also nearby and waiting on her, weapons drawn and ready to fight.

They were in the ruined gardens of the winter palace, surrounded by broken planter pots and scorched cobblestones. The fountain behind her still trickled with water, glimmering as though nothing had happened here, but Ellana still remembered the dead man she'd seen in it on the night of the rebellion. She tried to push that thought from her mind as she raised her left palm and felt the incorporeal grab of the magic snag on the Veil, piercing it. The pain intensified as she focused, the tugging sensation worsening until she clenched her hand into a fist and jerked downward.

With a dull boom that resounded through the gardens, the green of the Fade appeared, shimmering like emeralds and dripping ether. Ellana had aimed the rift low so that she and her companions could step through it once they'd dispensed with the unfortunate spirits who'd be pulled through the tear. That was an unpleasant side-effect of their current method that she and Solas had yet to resolve—how to spare the spirits who became demons at the site of each rift they opened. So far their only solution had been to open as few rifts as possible, accessing the Fade only through that one entry point and enlarging the circles they made to cover more area.

Green tendrils shot out from the rift, bubbling with ether as the first few demons materialized. Gripping her bow—the new one Solas had given her—Ellana nocked her first arrow and fired through a wisp across the courtyard. The long shot dispersed the wisp's essence, sending it streaming back toward the rift in a blur of green. Solas grunted from just behind her and she heard his fire roar as she pivoted in time to see he'd incinerated a shade into ashes.

Lyris and Mathrel Fade stepped around the rift, slashing at a terror demon with their spectral blades buzzing. They moved in a synchronized dance, darting in while the other feinted, striking and then whirling away. Despite the gloominess of the dawn—the skies seem to promise rain with their dour clouds—the bonded pair's armor gleamed, reflecting the green light of the rift as they worked together.

Mahanon stayed with Shila, throwing barriers up over the group and then casting ice while Shila worked lightning with a crackle. Abelas Fade stepped through a shade lurching its way toward Ellana, freezing it solid. Solas let out a mindblast, shattering the demon and knocking back a few others that'd taken an interest in Ellana.

Lerand, Lyris, and Samhel killed the last wisp across the courtyard and the rift shuddered, flashing with a small boom as another wave of spirits was torn through. More tendrils appeared, bubbling. Ellana backed away from the nearest one, anticipating by its larger shape that it would sprout into a rage demon or possibly a pride demon. Solas and Abelas both moved with her, guardians whose magic made her skin tingle.

When the demon emerged Ellana groaned as it expanded into a pride demon. The beast let out a low roar, bristling and toothy as it surveyed the courtyard and ruined gardens. Ellana nocked an arrow and fired immediately as both Solas and Abelas sprang into action as well. Abelas cast a barrier over them and then lobbed ice chunks at it while Solas made a huffing sound, scowling at the demon as if he could intimidate it into retreating back into the Fade.

Ellana shot him a perplexed sidelong glance, baffled for a moment by his lack of action, but then felt the tingle on her skin intensify until she was dizzy with it. A heartbeat later Solas unleashed another mindblast in a wave of pale green energy. The force of it whipped Ellana's hair, making her cringe. The pride demon and all the others in the courtyard staggered at the blow. The explosion of it left Ellana's ears ringing.

Blinking, she looked up and saw the pride demon, as the enemy closest to Solas, had disintegrated. Its essence trailed off in a green streak toward the Fade rift. Now she grinned at Solas, relieved that he'd spared them the nasty fight—only to reach out for him in concern as she saw him sag as if the weight of his own body was suddenly too much.

"Are you okay?" she asked, squeezing his bicep.

"Yes," he said, flashing her a quick reassuring smile. "It is only temporary. I expended too much mana too quickly."

Lyris and Mathrel, along with Mahanon and Shila, had moved to cut down the last demon on the field yet alive. In just a few attacks they'd struck it down as well. The rift shuddered and let out another crackling rumble as it shrank, ready to be closed with all the nearby spirits exhausted. The Anchor tugged on Ellana's hand, long experience making her start to lift her palm as if to close it before she remembered herself and instead strode toward it.

"Let's get this over with," she said with a sigh as she gazed across the courtyard at her companions. "Everyone who's coming, follow me."

Stepping through the rift, Ellana immediately yelped and slipped, falling as her foot plopped into a substantial and deep puddle of water—or Fade ether, actually. Solas, close behind her, snatched her arm before she could topple over. Breathing deep to settle her pounding heart, Ellana smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said with a nod and a small smile of his own. As Abelas and the others began to file through, taking in the sandy expanse of the raw Fade around them, dappled as it was with extensive, sloppy puddles and mists of green ether, Solas guided Ellana gently off to one side. His blue eyes searched over her, pinched at the edges with worry. "How are you feeling, vhenan?"

Her shoulders slumped. "Tired." That was an understatement. She rubbed at her face and grimaced at the grit she found on her cheeks. Her joints felt loose and achy, her abdominal muscles seemed sloppy and slow. Her belly had shrunken greatly after delivering, but her equilibrium remained off. And it wasn't merely her body that felt off-center. Her arms seemed empty without the baby in them and she kept feeling as though she'd forgotten something essential—like forgetting to put on pants before admitting someone into her bedchambers at Skyhold.

"After what you've been through, I would expect that to be an understatement," Solas said, smirking with amusement. It was as if he'd read her mind. The glimmer of affection and admiration in his gaze made something inside her chest flush with warmth. He sobered a moment later, the smile falling from his lips. "Ir abelas. I wish we did not have to rush to—"

"It's okay," she said, reaching out to cup his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. "This isn't your fault."

Now he frowned. "It is, actually." He laid his own hand over hers, gripping it and squeezing. "Had I listened to you, we would be in the Emerald Graves now and none of this would be a concern. You would be resting and we would both be getting to know our son." His smile returned, tender with love as he tentatively added the baby's name. "Sylvun."

She squeezed his hand. "We can't change the past; only learn from it for the sake of the future. But Sylvun isn't going anywhere." She smiled, quashing her own anxiousness at not having her baby in her arms. She'd left him with Rinaya and her mother, and she had no doubt both women would be perfect caretakers for her little son. Rinaya could even feed him as she'd still been nursing Deya regularly enough that her milk remained plentiful. It was a good thing too—Sylvun was a ravenous little thing.

"Ma serannas," Solas replied, leaning his forehead to rest against hers.

"For what?" she asked, glancing to where Abelas had taken charge of the others, ordering Shila and Samhel to go in one direction and begin the first runes while he accompanied Mathrel and Lerand the opposite way, leaving Mahanon to guard the rift itself. Lyris had stayed behind in the waking world to guard the rift on that side.

"For your forgiveness," Solas answered, wrapping his arms around her in an embrace that was far tighter than it'd been in months now that her belly no longer acted as a physical barrier. "For your perseverance." He paused a moment, letting out a wavering breath. "For our son."

She smiled, chuckling with love at his earnestness. "Mamae was right," she teased. "You really are smitten."

"Fen'Harel," a voice called out from behind Solas, further away from the rift.

Ellana sensed Solas stiffen and a heartbeat later he sighed, withdrawing and pivoting on one heel to glance at Shila, the one who'd called to him. One of his hands remained at her waist, the fingers twitching idly, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to part from her just yet. Past him in the distance, Ellana saw Shila and Samhel standing in the tawny sand of the raw Fade at the edge of a vast expanse of mist-covered water. It was clear they needed him to reshape the Fade in order to progress any further.

"Duty calls," Ellana murmured, breaking away from Solas and sidestepping through the muck at her feet to stand closer to the pulsating green light of the Fade rift. "Go to them," she said.

Solas glanced at her with a solemn expression before nodding. She watched him walk away, his tread confident and sure despite the uneven, messy footing. A sigh from off to her right drew her gaze to where Mahanon stood, leaning against a lumpy gray rock that rose to about shoulder height out of the muck and sand. Reddish weeds grew out of it at the base and on the end opposite where Mahanon stood she spied a gilded vase with a green-gray decorative bush growing from it.

"I remember when Deya was as tiny as your little one is now," Mahanon told her, his hazel eyes wistful. "I couldn't stop watching her or holding her or worrying about her. I'd lie awake just listening to her breathe."

Struggling not to feel the tug of anxious love twisting inside her at his words, Ellana smirked as she opted for humor instead. "Are you going to convince Rinaya to give you another?"

Mahanon met her stare with an unreadable look and then spoke as if he hadn't heard her question. "It's strange. So much has already changed for our people—for our clan. Deshanna discouraged us from having more children before Solas and you came to us in the fall. We couldn't risk having any more mages." He shook his head, anger crossing his face a moment before he relaxed again. "Now Deshanna has been _encouraging_ us to have more children, as many as we want…"

Ellana sensed the unspoken _but_ in his words and waited, arching her brow with expectation. Mahanon stayed quiet a moment, distracted by watching Solas work with Shila and Samhel. The Fade shuddered around them and Ellana shivered, her skin tingling and the Anchor crackling. The light changed between one blink of her eye and the next. The raw Fade had vanished, leaving a replica of the gardens and winter palace courtyard from the waking world. The sky was blue and bright rather than the cloudy gloom they'd left behind, and Fade ether clung to the potted plants and the water in the fountain, but otherwise it was a near-perfect likeness—and all wrought by Solas' power.

Licking his lips, Mahanon spoke again, "We'll be immortal, Lana. Once this is all done, as long as we're in the Dales—in our _homeland—_ we'll live forever."

"It sounds wonderful," she murmured softly. "And too good to be true."

"Yes," Mahanon agreed with a sage nod. "But the more I think about it, the more I can see the drawbacks. If we no longer die, yet we continue having children…" He frowned. "It is unsustainable. The earth will not feed us all eventually."

"Abelas told me once that all of Thedas wasn't enough for Elvhenan," she murmured, sighing. How long would the People be content with the Dales? How long before they'd grow too numerous for their lands to sustain and would march on Orlais or Ferelden?

"Exactly," Mahanon said with a frown. His hazel eyes were sad as he stared at her. "So, in answer to your question about having more children…" His jaw clenched and he shook his head. "Not for some time."

"It's something we'll have to think about," Ellana agreed. "An issue that will need to be addressed."

A shout from in the distance drew her attention then. Far across the courtyard Ellana saw Abelas, Mathrel, and Lerand had completed their half of the rune circle while Shila and Samhel were about three-quarters done. Solas moved between the finished runes, adding to them one by one using a finger to dip into the blood. He'd told Cole long ago in a conversation Ellana had overheard that he didn't practice blood magic. She could see the truth of that now as he'd never offered to use his own blood for the runes. Instead they spread that task out among everyone who accompanied them.

Flexing her left hand, Ellana flashed Mahanon a quick smile. "Time for me to make myself useful again."

Mahanon snorted. "As if _you_ could ever be anything except useful."

Smiling to herself, Ellana trotted away over the now solidified Fade, transformed as it was into the garden courtyard of the winter palace. At the rune where Mathrel, Abelas, and Lerand waited, Ellana stopped about two meters shy and stared at the crimson stain on the pallid stone of the courtyard wall. Surveying it to be certain Solas had added the notations that'd make it semi-permeable, allowing spirits to pass through, she nodded her approval. "Who drew this one?"

"I did," Lerand answered, beaming with pride at the accomplishment. "Abelas taught me."

"Very good," she told him and then shot Abelas a smile of appreciation. "Thank you for taking the time to teach him."

Abelas stared at her with a blank expression, though there was something akin to amusement in his golden eyes. He shrugged. "Lerand asked. There is no need to thank me."

She smirked. "Just take the compliment, lethallin."

"We would do well to teach more among the Dalish," Mathrel suggested.

"Then that's what we'll do," Ellana said with a nod. "Will you three teach as many as you can going forward?" As they answered in the affirmative with a mixture of verbal and nonverbal responses, Ellana said, "Good. Ma serannas." Focusing on the rune ahead of her, she raised her left palm, wincing at the flare of pain as it sprang to life. "Here goes…"

Green light shot out in a short blast from her palm, crackling and flickering as it contacted the rune. In a few moments the blood seemed to have absorbed the energy and glowed, fully activated. _Only seven more to go,_ she thought and started for the next rune.

This was only the beginning, though. They'd have to do several more circles just to encompass the palace, ever widening them to take in more. Then, after the palace had been restored, they'd do the same for Halamshiral and some of the surrounding lands if they had time before another threat arrived. It'd be hours yet before Ellana could rest or return to Sylvun. The thought made her heart ache, her arms empty and her eyes prickling with emotion.

As she reached the next rune, with Abelas, Lerand, and Mathrel tailing her, Ellana made eye contact with Solas, who was on his way to help with Shila and Samhel's half of the enormous circle. He smiled at her, soft and full of encouragement, as if he'd read her thoughts and hoped to offer strength or reassurance. All too soon the moment ended and Ellana faced the rune in front of her again, returning to work. Yet she felt tougher now, as if Solas had managed to impart her with some fortitude.

She raised her left hand as the Anchor crackled again and thought, _Let's do this._

* * *

It was near dusk when Ellana activated the last rune in the waking world, completing the final circle that'd restore the Fade to the winter palace. No matter how often he experienced it, the moment when the Fade at last meshed with reality always made Solas stagger with the shock as his mana reserves swelled and the blissful caress of magic in the very air sang through him. A few of the others reacted similarly, flinching and gasping, stumbling in place and reaching for the nearest structure to steady themselves. Considering they were standing outside the palace's gates, that meant there was precious little to grab onto.

After the initial shock passed, Solas blinked and straightened, staring into the sky. The sunset had already colored the sky with yellow, orange, and red as it sank toward the horizon, but now Solas saw green and pink in the light. Black rocks hovered in the sky off to his right, glistening with moisture. The Black City was to the south; a perpetual blemish in what would have otherwise been a spectacularly beautiful view.

The elves with them here had all seen the Fade-restored sky and land, but there were scores inside the palace who'd just felt the change for the first time. Solas could hear distant shouts as they reacted now—and not all of them sounded pleased. He'd coordinated with Dalish and Elvhen who'd come from the Emerald Graves to try and prepare the Halamshiral elves for the coming change, but ultimately nothing that they _said_ could prepare for the actual experience. There'd inevitably be accidents as these elves discovered and accidentally used their magic for the first time.

With that in mind, Solas had suggested to Ellana that she send any elves who were deathly afraid of the Fade—like Sera—away to Val Royeaux. He'd also urged her to send Rainier and Dorian away with Sera, to seek out the Divine and possibly Celene. They could act as ambassadors, hopefully opening up a line of dialogue that could lead to peace without the need for a brutal war the likes of which Thedas hadn't seen since before the fall of Elvhenan.

Sera had left for Halamshiral during the day, while their group worked to complete the first rune circle, but Rainier and Dorian had refused to leave just yet. Solas didn't know why they insisted on staying, but he had far more pressing concerns than worrying about the motives of the two human men.

Finding Ellana standing beside the last activated rune, Solas said, "We must return to the palace to ensure there are no accidents as the People adjust."

She gave him a weary look, shoulders slumping as if he'd just thrust weights onto her. "Can you see to it, emma lath?" she asked, voice quiet and slow.

Solas frowned, stepping closer and reaching for her with concern. "Are you unwell?"

She sighed, leaning into his touch as he laid a hand over her cheek. "Just tired. And…" She smiled sluggishly. "I need to hold Sylvun again."

Now Solas smiled broadly, leaning close to kiss her, quick and tender. "Go on then, vhenan. I will join you as soon as I can."

As Ellana left, Solas caught Mahanon's gaze following after his sister. With a small gesture, Solas indicated he should go with her. Obedient, Mahanon trotted off to catch up with Ellana, leaving Solas to take charge of the remaining elves. He split the group into two, sending Abelas, Mathrel, Lerand, and Shila to Halamshiral to begin warning the city elves that in a few days the Fade would be restored there just as it had been now in the winter palace and the Emerald Graves. The others—himself, Lyris, and Samhel—returned to the palace to reassure the elves there.

As they entered the palace gardens, jogging by shattered pots and scorch marks marring the cobblestones, Solas saw the blue-white streak of someone Fade stepping toward them. The shape blurred down the stairs, coming straight toward them. Solas tensed, sensing that only bad news warranted such a rush. Raising a hand to signal to the others around him to halt, he waited in the courtyard until the person rushing toward them came clear. It was Var, flushed and panting.

"Fen'Harel," he said, puffing. "A raven arrived…just before sundown."

Var extended one hand and Solas took the small proffered scroll. The seal on it was Orlesian and had already been broken, indicating someone else had read it—not that Solas cared. He unrolled it and skimmed quickly over it as Var summarized it, apparently unable to hold back.

"Orlais has declared war on us and demands our immediate surrender."

Solas clenched his jaw, still reading over the scroll. "How very expected." Yet, as he searched over the paper, he noticed with a bubble of relief that lessened his tension that although Orlais' declaration called on the "faithful" for aid in retaking the Dales and Halamshiral, it didn't claim there'd been an alliance between the Chantry or the Inquisition. It also made no mention of an Exalted March, though it did seem to be inviting the Divine to chime in with agreement. Was this a sign that Cassandra and Leliana were reconsidering their Exalted March?

"Any idea when they'll attack?" Samhel asked from behind him.

"They won't announce that," Solas answered blankly. "Yet I suspect we can expect it to arrive within a matter of days."

"Will we be ready by then?" Lyris asked, frowning.

"Yes," Solas replied and tucked the scroll into his belt. _We had better be…_

* * *

Sylvun stared up at her, gray-blue eyes hazy and lidded. He made little grunts as he squirmed occasionally in her arms. Having been fed, burped, and bathed, the baby was content and fast slipping toward sleep in Ellana's arms. It was impossible to look at him and not see Solas in the shape of his nose and eyes; even in his hands he already had his father's longer, slender fingers. Yet Ellana saw traces of her own face and her family's features in the tiny baby the longer she watched him. Currently the set of his eyebrows reminded her of Mahanon and their father.

"He's undoubtedly filling his pants, you know," Dorian told her from her right bedside. "It seems as though that's all he's done today. If you were wondering what you'd missed, love, I can assure you that was pretty much the extent of it."

Rainier, slightly further away at the foot of her bed, agreed with a chuckle. "Dorian's right. Seemed as though your mother and the other elven woman with her would hardly finish changing him once and he'd already wet himself again." He laughed as he added, "Little fella's worse than a drunkard at a wedding."

Ellana stayed quiet as they spoke, absorbed by Sylvun's miniature fists with their surprisingly strong grip. Rinaya and her mother had both left for the moment to find food for the evening meal for the adults now that the baby was satisfied and would likely soon be sleeping. It was dark outside and Ellana was so tired she was ready to pass out as soon as Sylvun drifted off. Dorian and Rainier had told her they planned to set off for Val Royeaux the following morning, which meant this evening was for goodbyes and last minute plans. They were here currently as much to bid her farewell, see Sylvun, and corner Solas with some demands.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, a familiar tread thumped down the hallway. Ellana recognized Mathrel and Lyris' footsteps, and underlying them were Solas' softer, more graceful footfalls. She looked up from Sylvun in her arms to the doorway just as Dorian and Rainier did, seeing Solas stride through it and immediately frown at the two men.

Tucking his hands behind his back, Solas asked with an unmistakable note of irritation, "Have we so few beds in the winter palace that the both of you must sleep here?"

Dorian snorted. "As a matter of fact, yes, that's exactly it." He motioned at Rainier. "Thom and I were just waiting on you to show up and conjure us a big feather bed out of thin air." He wriggled his fingers for dramatic effect. "That is something you can do now, yes?"

Solas shifted his stance slightly, his expression impassive. "What do you need?"

"I could go for a nice ale," Rainier quipped, smirking. "If that's something you can magic up along with the bed."

"Enough," Ellana grumbled, speaking before they could devolve into outright arguing rather than just sarcasm and barbed comments. She shot Dorian a frown briefly before she spoke to Solas, "Dorian had a suggestion for you. He's willing to carry a message to everyone in Val Royeaux on our behalf, but in exchange he—"

"I want the chaos in Tevinter to end," Dorian cut her off, taking over. "My homeland has seen enough of it between the elven rebellion and Qunari incursions." His brown eyes narrowed, glaring. His voice had a bite to it, sharp and angry. "It needs to stop and I know _you_ can make that happen."

Solas returned the Tevinter magister's glare for several long, heavy seconds. Then he looked to Ellana and sighed. "The Imperium is the last holdout of slavery in Thedas," he said with a small frown. "It must be abolished." In the dim candlelight of the room Solas' face had been cast in harsh planes of darkness and orange-yellow flickering. It made him look sinister—though it had that effect on everyone in the room.

"Slavery or the Imperium itself?" Ellana asked him.

"If one cannot be ended without the other's elimination, then both must be destroyed," Solas replied.

"I've been working on that," Dorian snapped. "Just give me time. Chaos isn't helping the situation."

Solas stared at Dorian and the silence dragged out. Ellana saw her lover's face twist, nostrils flaring and shoulders hunched, as if anticipating a fight. But then he seemed to deflate and his eyes flew to her and stayed on her as he said, "I promised I would defer to your judgment, vhenan. Please, tell me your position in this."

Despite the exhaustion weighing her thoughts down, Ellana smiled at him. "Give Dorian a chance to make reforms. Change takes time."

"Except when it does not," Solas retorted with an unhappy scowl. "Your actions proved as much when you chose to support mage freedom by allying with them in Redcliffe." His glare shifted to Dorian. "And you did so despite the chaos of the time."

Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Mages gaining some measure of freedom in the south and abolishing slavery in my homeland are two very different things. For one thing, there are many _thousands_ of slaves and there were only—"

Solas looked back at Ellana, cutting Dorian off by talking over him. "Tevinter has had a thousand years since the time of Andraste to end slavery, yet it has not done so. Allowing the Imperium additional time seems pointless given their history." His eyes narrowed, wordlessly pleading with her. "Before you make your decision, please consider that."

Ellana clenched her jaw, unable to deny the truth of Solas' argument and yet also unwilling to support his solution. Drawing in a breath, she shifted Sylvun in her arms when she felt him squirm, and spoke in a quiet voice. "Sometimes change only comes with the right leaders." Her eyes cut to Dorian and she smiled with the warm affection she felt for him bubbling in her chest. "Do you think you can end slavery in the Imperium? Can you be the leader it needs for true reform?"

Dorian changed position, fidgeting as he puffed himself up. "I certainly _intend_ to be that man, yes."

"That is not good enough," Solas snapped, taking a threatening step closer. "Unless your intent involves using mass blood magic to change the other magisters' minds."

Dorian cringed, sneering at the mere suggestion. "That's no better than slavery," he snarled.

"On that we are agreed," Solas growled. "But that brings us no closer to a true solution for ending slavery in the Imperium."

Now Dorian scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I suppose you think your so-called solution is the right one? Chaos and killing and rebellion? Mass rioting and assassination? Anarchy?"

"Enough," Ellana said, raising her voice slightly and then wincing when Sylvun made a little grunting sound and wiggled again in her arms. Solas and Dorian both looked to her, one with lingering irritation and the other with a sudden, intense paternal interest. Sighing, Ellana gently cuddled Sylvun a moment before making her pronouncement. "We need to compromise. Solas—give Dorian another chance to do things his way, in the interest of peace and alliance."

He frowned at her but she didn't miss the meaningful dip of his eyes taking in the bundle in her arms that was Sylvun. Nodding, he said, "Ma nuvenin, vhenan."

She shot Dorian a look now, somber and dark. "Dorian—the Imperium needs to abolish slavery, once and for all. If you cannot achieve it in a few years through traditional means…" She frowned and shook her head, letting the rest remain unsaid.

Dorian's shoulders slumped. "I see."

Rainier cleared his throat then, speaking for the first time since the argument began. "I can't support rebellion, but I have to agree with Lady Lavellan. The Imperium's had ages to change and they haven't."

Rolling his eyes, Dorian waved dismissively at the warrior. "Yes, yes. You've all made your point clear." Glancing sourly at Ellana he added, "Just…warn me before you unleash the damned Dread Wolf on us again, yes?"

"You have my word," she answered solemnly.

"Well, that's something then." Sighing, Dorian said, "I suppose we should retire for the night, Thom. Morning comes round early." He rose from his seat at her bedside and started for the door. Rainier moved with him, his armor clanking. Ellana didn't miss the way they both made wide arcs around Solas, as if they feared he had Blight and might spread it to them if they came too close.

When she and Solas were alone, Ellana offered him a small, tired smile. "Mamae and Rinaya should be back with something to eat soon, if you're hungry."

He shook his head slightly in the negative and walked slowly toward the bed, his expression tender though his eyes held something dark and somber. "Have you heard of the raven that arrived from Val Royeaux just before sunset?" he asked quietly.

Arching her brows, she said, "No…bad news, I assume?"

One corner of Solas' mouth twitched upward. "There is so rarely any other kind, sadly." At her bedside he reached out and touched her hair and then her cheek, his motions gentle and slow, reverent. "Orlais has declared war upon us," he told her, voice quiet and somber.

"Well, we knew that was coming." Letting out a long breath, Ellana leaned into his hand, letting her eyes drift shut. His fingers left a tingling sensation as they caressed her cheek, stirring something warm and pleasant inside her chest. Her mana core, which had been as sluggish as her body until now, responded with the ardor of a lover. She inhaled sharply at the sensation, having nearly forgotten how…enjoyable…magic was.

Actually, enjoyable wasn't the right word. _Pleasurable._

Sylvun wiggled, moving his head and blinking sleepily, drawing both of his parents' attention as he let out a tiny coo. Solas chuckled, his hand dropping to stroke the baby's fuzzy auburn hair. "Ir abelas, ma ishalen," he said. "I did not mean to disturb you."

"You can make it up to him by changing him the next time he needs it," Ellana teased. She watched, smiling as Solas brushed the baby's cheek and Sylvun turned his head, lips questing for a nipple only to latch onto his father's finger. He suckled, eyes drifting shut as his tiny mouth worked.

Leaving his finger in the baby's mouth, Solas eased himself onto the bed beside Ellana. They watched in contented silence as Sylvun seemed to gradually fall asleep despite the ongoing sucking motions of his mouth. Finally Ellana turned her head and gazed at Solas with a dry smile as she asked in a near-whisper, "When do you think the Orlesians will arrive?"

"I suspect the raven was sent at the same time as their army was dispatched," he answered, also barely above a whisper, still watching Sylvun. "It will be a day or two if that is the case. That will provide us with enough time to restore the Fade to Halamshiral and a few miles beyond both the palace and the city, ideally." Now he frowned and looked to her, his eyes crinkling at the edges with regret. "I am sorry this will take you away from him for so long."

She flashed him a half-smile. "There isn't any other choice, emma lath." Sobering a heartbeat later, she swallowed the abrupt lump that formed in her throat as her heart began to pound. Conflicting emotions tore through her when she considered the impending arrival and attack by the Orlesians. There was a knot in her chest, hot and tight with something akin to anger that Celene couldn't have just honored the accord she signed, couldn't have seen the _rightness_ of returning the Dales to the People, of mending the Broken Promise.

She'd been so certain when she fled Halamshiral and when Solas had found her in the Arbor Wilds that unleashing Solas' full power would be unwarranted and wrong. But now, with Sylvun in her arms, Ellana could only feel that hot, protective wrath blooming inside her. The humans had done nothing but subjugate the People, breaking their promise and robbing them of their lands and freedom. Eventually it felt the same as with slavery in Tevinter. How much mercy and patience did they really deserve when the Orlesians and the Chantry and the Inquisition would just imprison or execute her and Solas if they could? And little Sylvun would inevitably wind up in a Circle, locked away for life though he'd committed no crimes short of being born with magic.

Her arms, holding Sylvun, tensed with the hot surge of maternal rage. "Solas," she murmured, her voice strained with emotion. "I…" Sucking in a quavering breath, she met his gray-blue eyes with her own. "You'll be able to stop them? However many there are?" She felt herself shudder and tried to minimize the motion to avoid disturbing Sylvun.

Solas stared at her, his gaze roving over her face for a moment before he said, "I will stop them, vhenan." A small, almost timid smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "With you at my side."

She felt herself relax with relief, returning his smile with one of her own. Eyes darting to his lips, she leaned closer, going in for a kiss. Solas met her part way, his lips warm and soft as they caressed hers.

Then, from the doorway, came the sound of a tongue clucking. Ellana and Solas pulled apart, staring in that direction to see her mother and Rinaya grinning at them. "Now, now," Ellana's mother admonished in a soft voice as Rinaya strode to the small desk beside one of the windows and set a tray laden with food and tea onto it. "You have to give the first little one at least a few months to grow before you make him a brother or sister."

Ellana bit back the desire to groan, though she did roll her eyes. "Mamae…"

Solas chuckled and nodded his head in an exaggerated gesture of respect directed at her mother. "Ma serannas, hahren, for your wisdom."

Ellana's mother beamed at him and then shifted her attention to her daughter, teasing. "You see, Lana? _Those_ are manners."

Shaking her head in amusement and trying not to laugh for fear it'd bother Sylvun, Ellana couldn't help but smirk at Solas with the thought that the _Dread Wolf_ had better manners than her, according to her own mother. "Ir abelas, mamae," she intoned quietly. "My shame knows no bounds."

"Just wait until Sylvun pees on you," Rinaya quipped, grinning. " _Then_ you can say your shame knows no bounds."

* * *

**Elven Used**

Ma Ishalen: My son

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"What does Solas want to do?" Ellana asked, voice somber.

Mathrel blinked at her and answered in deadpan. "End them, of course."

"The ones scaling the walls around Halamshiral?" she asked, though she already suspected she was wrong in that guess.

Mathrel shook his head. "The entire army."


	47. The Orlesian Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas prepares to defend both Halamshiral and the Winter Palace.

Both Ellana and Ashani helped Solas adjust the sling holding Sylvun until it was over his chest and strapped on his shoulders comfortably. The soft halla leather cradled the baby in place, within easy reach and yet freeing up his hands. Mothers in Solas' village long ago had often placed their infants in similar slings and carriers to better remain active and useful to the community. Solas suspected his own parents had carried him in something like this sling, long ago when he'd been a newborn.

"There you go," Ashani said, pulling a step back and surveying him up and down. "Comfortable?"

"Indeed," Solas answered with a nod, one arm cradling the lump that was his son—drowsy and placid after his most recent feeding. "More so than my pack, in fact."

"He'll get heavier," Ashani said with a smirk. "If he hasn't already."

"Are you sure he's getting enough to eat?" Ellana asked her mother, brows furrowed with anxiety. Sylvun was four days old now and constantly ravenous, crying every few hours for a feeding. Solas had no idea what was _normal_ for an infant as he'd spent virtually no time around one before this. Like any new topic he wasn't well-versed in, Solas followed the wisdom of someone better educated in the subject, which meant he took Ashani and Rinaya's word as law. Ashani seemed unbothered by the frequent crying and had been shrugging off Ellana's nervous questions repeatedly. Therefore, Solas quashed any lingering doubt or uncertainty he had regarding his son's appetite.

Ashani flashed her daughter a reassuring smile. "If he cries right after you nurse him, then you might start to worry. But he'll let us know. All you have to worry about is taking care of yourself to make sure you have enough milk for him."

While mother and daughter continued chatting, Solas strolled to the window to stare out at the afternoon sunlight. Greenish Fade ether curled over the pale cobblestones in the courtyard below and a playful wisp had begun circling a hedge like a dog chasing its tail. Seeing it brought a smile to Solas' lips. The Veil remained in place and there were thousands of spirits—of all types whether neutral, friendly, or hostile—still cut off from the realm of the living. Yet, in this little spot of perfection, Thedas could be whole and Solas saw the wisp's exuberance in its circling of the hedge as an unmistakable sign of its innocent joy. It was truly something worthy of celebration.

Glancing down at the desk beside the window, Solas saw an empty glass with a few brownish flecks of tea all that remained from the tincture Ashani had prepared for Ellana at lunch—an herbal supplement to help with lactation. Laying a finger on the cool glass, he reached outward with his magic and willed the bits of herbs and tea away. With little puffs of smoke the herbs disappeared, becoming gray smoke that then dissolving into green Fade ether.

With the glass now clean, Solas made a small grabbing motion in the air above the glass and felt the Fade ripple in response. Water tinkled, quickly filling the glass out of thin air, summoned from the ether. Warm pleasure swelled in his chest as he smiled down at his work. Tapping a finger against the glass, he chilled it with a smidgen of ice magic and gripped it, raising it to his lips to sip—only to stop as he registered Ellana's ongoing worrying behind him and had a new idea.

Considering the wisp again and holding onto that joy and triumph, Solas dipped a finger into the chilled water, imbibing it with that emotion. It was a simple practice, but long since forgotten by Thedas post-Veil. The water had a few bright specks in it, almost like ice, but tinted faintly blue. It was a mark of the magic he'd left within it, which had taken on his affinity for the school of ice.

Returning to Ellana, Solas laid a hand on her shoulder and proffered the glass. "Sip this, vhenan."

She took it from him without question but raised an eyebrow as she registered the slight coloration and glinting within the clear liquid. "Is this water? What did you…" She frowned, switching the glass from one hand to the other and Solas realized he could see the green seam of the Anchor, reacting. It was peculiar in what set it off and what didn't. "You enchanted it?" she asked.

Smiling at her, he nodded. "I did." He motioned at her encouragingly. "Drink and I will draw you a bath if you like."

"Don't you mean conjure one?" Ashani asked, chuckling. "I have to say, I wish Fehorn could have conjured _me_ a bath after I had Mahanon. But no, we had to do it the old fashioned way by finding a hot spring or just dipping in the chilly river."

Solas smirked at her. "I would be happy to _conjure_ you a bath as well," he said.

Ellana snorted, grinning at him. "Show off _and_ brown noser? You're just an overachiever today."

Solas returned her grin with one of his own. "I prefer to describe myself as a man of many talents."

Still gazing at him over the rim of the glass, Ellana sipped a quick mouthful from it and, after swallowing, swayed as if dizzy. Then, abruptly, she laughed in great, long peals before clapping a hand over her mouth to try and stifle the sound for fear of waking Sylvun, dozing inside the sling Solas wore. Ashani looked between Solas and Ellana with curiosity. "What was in that?"

"A simple emotional enchantment," Solas replied, watching Ellana with a smile. "A common practice in Elvhenan, but forgotten in this world because it is difficult to do without the Fade."

Ellana sipped again as he spoke, beaming with joy just as Solas had intended. "How long does it last?" she asked, smirking. "Am I going to be giggling all day or just the next few minutes?"

"Only a few minutes," Solas answered. "The magic I used was mild. I was never particularly invested in mastering it."

"May I?" Ashani asked, reaching for the glass. Ellana passed it to her and the older woman took a small sip, immediately flushing and laughing as well. Just as Ellana had she cut off the sounds with a hand over her mouth, eyes springing open wide as raw joy suffused her features. She snorted again, losing control of the laughter as Ellana took the glass back from her.

"How could anyone forget such a thing?" Ashani exclaimed. "I could think of dozens of uses for liquid happiness that _isn't_ addictive or intoxicating." Pausing, she suddenly shot Solas a wary look. "It isn't any of those things actually, is it?"

Solas chuckled as he shook his head in the negative. "Not in the physical sense, no. However, there were plenty who grew obsessed and imbibed too often—or such was my opinion." At her contemplative frown he sighed. "Another reason I did not learn it with any finesse."

"Well," Ellana said, swishing the water round the glass in a circular motion. "If you can teach mamae how to do it I'm sure she'd want to use it as medicine."

Ashani nodded. "For the grief-stricken and heartbroken a little draught of happiness would be ideal—in moderation of course."

Solas agreed and smiled at her encouragingly, though he suspected the knowledge would quickly expand into abuse just as it had in Elvhenan. Of course it'd also been an art in its greatest heyday. Solas had attended plays in Arlathan where the beverages served had all been masterfully enchanted with emotion that matched the theatrical and dramatic mood of the production. A viewer could choose to experience the emotions of a wide range of characters on stage simply by drinking a bit of wine or eating a little bread. The enchantments changed throughout the play, triggered by actors' lines from onstage.

Such entertainment had been a staple of life in Elvhenan, and one of Mythal's favorite ways to spend her time. And _time_ it was—plays could go on for weeks with scarcely a break for sleeping or relieving one's self. For most of the Evanuris such spectacles were common and expected, but for Solas, however, it'd been a display of excess. While the People had infinite time for such activities, they still needed to eat and drink. Crops needed harvesting, food required preparation, and all the tedious work of maintaining the trappings of civilization—the buildings, streets, magical constructs, and so much more—could not be ignored. And yet, most of the time, the other Evanuris did exactly that by enjoying the ostentatious excesses of the highest upper class while ignoring the backbreaking work needed to sustain it.

"I think I will take that bath now," Ellana said after sipping the last bit of water from the glass. She smiled at him, unguarded and lazy with the effects of the enchantment. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble for you," she teased.

"I believe I can manage it," he replied, glad to be drawn from his reverie on the distant past.

Ashani spoke up then: "While she's in the tub I'd like to—"

Footsteps pounded in the hall outside the doorway, interrupting Ashani and making Solas tense. He recognized the tread of the approaching person and anticipated trouble would invariably arrive with him. Facing the doorway, he watched as Var trotted through it, slightly winded and with his eyes as round and wide as they could go. "Hahren," he called, gaze darting quickly over the two women with Solas. "Scouts report an army marching from northwest, just a few hours out. Their banners are Orlesian."

Feeling both Ellana and Ashani's eyes on him, Solas clenched his jaw but otherwise remained unfazed. "I understand, falon." Hesitating a moment, he idly brushed a hand over the lump of his son sleeping in the safety of the halla leather sling. "Did they have an estimation of how many we will face? And was there no sign of Chantry or Inquisition forces?"

In the few days since Orlais had declared war on them, Ellana and Solas had worked feverishly to restore the Fade to Halamshiral and a swath of land between the palace and the city and around it for about a mile. The work was exhausting, requiring them to cross back and forth routinely between the Fade-restored areas and the broader Veil-strangled remainder of Thedas, but they'd managed it. It'd helped that they could return to the palace at night and enjoy the physical benefits of the Fade, which diminished their need for food, drink, and even sleep—a side effect of the gift of agelessness. Sylvun, as a growing infant, didn't experience such benefits though, as evidenced by his constant ravenousness. Solas stroked the halla leather sling again at the thought of his son as he watched Var's expression, trying to read it as either positive or negative.

"The scouts report sightings of small groups of other forces, but they fly no banner so we cannot be certain who they are," Var said as he shuffled from foot to foot. "And as for the Orlesians' numbers…" Scowling, he let out a long breath. "Perhaps five thousand infantry and an additional five hundred chevaliers."

Solas nodded, ignoring Ashani and Ellana's sharp inhalations. He'd hoped they would send fewer, but it was still less than he'd feared—but no matter. Even doubled Solas was confident he could thwart them. The true danger was if the Divine and the Inquisition threw in their numbers. The Inquisition alone could wield a force more than twice Orlais' and the Chantry would command hundreds of Templars and every pitchfork-wielding devout peasant. A force as large as that could possibly get around his defenses and endanger the city unless Solas took drastic action—mainly of the incredibly violent kind.

"I see," he said and, slow with reluctance, pivoted to face Ashani and Ellana. "I'll need you to watch Sylvun."

"I'm coming with you," Ellana said at once, firm and unyielding as her eyes locked on his.

Smiling at her humorlessly, Solas said, "I expected as much, vhenan. But you should not unduly endanger yourself." He laid both hands on her shoulders, squeezing to try and impart the seriousness of what he said. "I cannot afford to be distracted with worry for you should something go awry."

She sighed, slouching as her gaze fell to the sling where their son slept. Slowly, she nodded. "If you order me to retreat, I'll go."

"Thank you," he told her, cupping her cheek with one hand briefly before he faced Ashani. "I may need some assistance with this," he said, indicating the sling.

Ashani stepped forward and reached for the straps securing the sling over Solas' shoulders and began loosening them with care. Ellana moved in as well, her brow furrowed and her eyes too moist. The sight made something in Solas' chest tighten with sorrow. Parting from Sylvun seemed to be physically painful for her.

After Ashani had transferred the sling to her own shoulders, Solas turned to Var. "Alert the other Elvhen and look for volunteers among the Dalish Firsts." As Var nodded and started to go, Solas grabbed his forearm, stopping him as a new thought sprang into his mind. "And tell Zevanni to bring the foci."

Var nodded again and strode from the room.

"The foci?" Ellana asked from his side, rubbing her left palm with the fingers of her right hand as if she could already feel the pain of the Anchor.

"Yes," Solas confirmed, shooting her a somber look. "A precaution, only. Ir abelas—I know it will prove uncomfortable for you, vhenan."

She shrugged, a dry smile spreading over her lips. "I can handle a little pain knowing that it won't kill me anymore. Thank you, Mythal." She raised her left hand palm up and flexed it.

Solas felt heat spread over his cheeks though he tried to fight it off; shamed at the reminder that Mythal had been able to save Ellana from _his_ magic. He would have taken her whole arm to spare her, unable to stabilize the Anchor. "Yes, I suppose I do owe the witch my thanks," he admitted.

"Well, she _did_ try to put me under a compulsion," Ellana chuckled. "So don't thank her _too_ heartily, emma lath."

The reminder of Morrigan and Mythal's duplicity made him scowl with anger, but he dismissed the emotion, letting it go to refocus on the present. "We must hurry and dress for battle."

"So much for that bath," Ashani quipped, grinning tightly as she cuddled Sylvun in the sling close to herself.

"When we return," Solas promised her.

* * *

The afternoon sun was heavy on Solas, seeming to press on him from all sides. Wearing the black wolf pelt headdress and his Elvhen armor, Solas walked over the newly grown spring grasses, still small and fragile but fresh and thick with moisture. Later in the season they'd dry out and grow much taller, but for now they were soft and lush, muffling the group's footsteps as they walked over the rolling hills between the palace and Halamshiral.

To the north Solas could already see signs of the approaching army—a glimmer of metal reflecting in the sun that'd been warped by the extreme distance until it looked like a water mirage. There was also a haze lingering in that direction, most likely caused by dust stirred up by the passage of thousands of human feet.

He saw Mahanon and Shila and the other handful of Dalish Firsts who'd agreed to join him all gawking as they saw the first hints of the army and tensed with fear. Doubtless they couldn't help but wonder if Solas had lost his mind bringing only a handful of elves to counter so many. Ellana also appeared anxious, wringing her hands together as she assessed the northern horizon and the approaching army. Unlike the Firsts Ellana had seen war on scales such as this before and she'd heard what Solas was capable of.

Most of the Firsts with him, in fact, had seen him shape the earth in the Emerald Graves—but it was for small skirmishes when they took human villages, or it was to erect stone walls to create shelter. Never before had Solas had occasion to display more than that. The thought of doing it now made him tight with apprehension for a variety of reasons. Primarily because displaying his talents in a scenario such as this would only reinforce the People's stubborn deification of him.

At the crest of a hill about halfway between the palace and Halamshiral, Solas stopped the group. "This will do," he told them. Surveying the others, he took in the nervous Firsts, Ellana, and then the Elvhen scattered amongst them. Unlike the modern elves, Lyris, Mathrel, Zevanni, and Var wore bland expressions, content to wait and unbothered by the approaching army of thousands of humans bent on their deaths. He checked on Zevanni, who purposefully lingered further from him to avoid paining Ellana with the foci she carried. Even so, despite that consideration, Solas could see the Anchor glowing green in Ellana's palm. But if she was in pain she gave no sign of it.

Motioning behind them toward the palace, Solas said, "Stand back. I must create a watchtower."

"What?" Mahanon asked, blinking.

Ignoring the question, Solas ushered them backward again with a gesture and this time they obeyed, shuffling through the soft grasses. Facing north, Solas squinted at the horizon a second, judging the distance and the height he'd need to cast over the area surrounding both the palace and the city. Then, making his decision, he focused on the hilltop ahead of him and reached out with one hand in a slow grabbing motion. Fade ether rose in wisps, twining round the grasses as they swayed in the slight breeze. Solas felt them connect with his mana core, like incorporeal hands squeezing somewhere inside.

Clenching his fist, Solas gradually raised his arm as his mind willed the ether to solidify and take shape. He imagined a spire of green rock, rising into the sky, and felt the ground at his feet quake as the green rock pushed its way from the earth. The Firsts behind him made sounds of alarm, pelting the air with their questions. Solas maintained his focus, funneling more ether into the structure, willing it higher. The rock spiraled as it climbed, a stairway curling up its sheer sides. Rocks crunched and clattered, the earth groaning as it bent to his will.

In only a few heartbeats it was complete and Solas released his grip on the Fade ether. Unclenching his hand, he let it fall to his side, breathing out a long breath with the effort of conjuring the raw Fade stone from ether. The tower was made of the same crystalline green rock as the stone he hurled as a rift mage. Nearer the top the Fade stone was brighter, catching the afternoon sunshine and reflecting it like a beacon, while the base was darker until it was almost black rock like that of the Crossroads. Solas had deliberately envisioned it that way, making the top's brightness obscure the shape or presence of anyone atop it so an archer or enemy mage would have difficulty aiming.

Crafted from raw Fade ether, it wasn't the pale stone or gleaming crystal works of Arlathan—and would've made the uppermost class of architects in Elvhenan weep with shame at its unfinished blandness—but it would do for Solas' purposes. He could always make it _look_ better later, but for now he didn't have time for such frivolities.

"Mythal have mercy," Shila gasped behind him and he heard similar oaths whispered among the other Dalish—including Ellana.

Pivoting on one foot, he glanced back at her, posture stiff with worry at what he'd find on her face. Would this act, relatively small in the scale of what he could do, astound her so much that she'd never be able to see him as merely Solas again? Her eyes were round and her mouth ajar as her gaze panned up and down the tower. But after a moment she seemed to shake off her awe and shock, locking her attention on him with something akin to curiosity, as if she couldn't imagine what he'd do next.

Motioning to the winding stairs around the tower he'd just created, Solas said, "If you would follow me, please."

Without waiting to see if they'd obey, Solas walked to the stairwell and began ascending it. Behind him he heard the rustle and whisper of the others following after him. Fade ether clung to the steps and the tower, like sap oozing from a freshly cut tree limb. Yet, unlike tree sap, Fade ether was slippery.

"Watch your step," he cautioned, twisting to gaze over his shoulder at the others. Ellana was directly behind him, one hand on the stone of the tower while her eyes were downcast, watching her feet. Mahanon and Shila were behind her with similar postures. Satisfied with their care, Solas resumed the climb.

At the top of the tower the structure had only a small roof, supported by four narrow rock columns. The view was unobstructed as he'd intended, allowing a clear view of the city and the palace from this elevated vantage point. The lookout spot was large enough that their group could cluster together, but only if they stood almost close enough to touch. A small half-wall made of Fade stone encircled the edges of the tower top to prevent anyone stumbling over the edge.

Striding to the half-wall edge, Solas leaned against it, ignoring the sliminess of the Fade ether that coated his palms when he rested his hands on it. Ellana joined him, though she didn't touch the barrier. "What do we do now?" she asked.

Still staring at the northern horizon where the smudge of the army was gradually increasing in size, Solas frowned. "Now we wait and observe the playing field."

"Why not conjure the ice walls now?" she asked.

"Doing so will obscure our view," Solas replied, jerking his chin to indicate the north. "I wish to assess their numbers and tactics as best I can before taking action." Pivoting to face the others clumped around the edges of the tower, Solas said, "Lyris will take the western lookout. Mathrel will watch south. Zevanni…" He found her standing at the entrance to the stairwell, as far as she could get away from Ellana in their relatively confined spot. Glancing quickly to Ellana, he saw the green glow in her hand had increased and she held it clenched into a fist at her side, but otherwise showed no sign of pain.

"Zevanni," he said again and noticed the way her brow arched with amusement. "Take Shila and Abelas and the other Firsts back down the stairs and begin the wards and runes for an aegis barrier."

She grinned at him, her dark eyes flicking to Ellana knowingly. "Fen'Harel enansal," she said and then motioned at Abelas and Shila and the handful of other Dalish firsts who'd accompanied them as volunteers. "You lot come with me. This will take a while."

Mahanon had started to leave with the other Firsts but Solas quickly stopped him. "Stay here, falon. You and Var will watch the eastern horizon."

Ellana's brother halted mid-step with a look of surprise that leapt between Ellana and Solas. Settling on Solas, he ducked his head in a respectful nod. "Fen'Harel enansal." He moved to join Var off to Solas' right, facing east.

"And what am I to do?" Ellana asked, fidgeting with her sleeves.

"The more pairs of eyes we have searching, the more likely we are to see a danger sooner," Solas answered solemnly before smiling slightly with dry humor as he decided to tease her. "And, of course, rogues are the finest messengers and couriers."

She scowled. "If you make me run somewhere I'm going to have to stick you with my arrows… _after_ I fry you with lightning."

Solas laughed, aware from the red blush on her face that it wasn't just the thought of being sent away from the battle that'd so irritated her. While she was no longer pregnant and had slimmed down almost to her pre-baby shape, motherhood had complicated things for Ellana in ways Solas had never expected—and couldn't help but find humorous. One such thing was the surprising messiness of lactation. Running somewhere would be both uncomfortable and embarrassing for her as, with the supply of milk increasing, she had a tendency to… _leak._ They'd discovered that over the last few nights when she'd woken in alarm believing herself covered with sweat only to realize it was milk.

"I shall bear that in mind," he said after catching his breath.

Ellana brushed a few fingers along the rock that formed a railing along the edge of the tower and grimaced as she found them slimy to the touch. Rubbing her fingers together, she asked him, "Did conjuring all this even put a dent in your reserves?"

Solas tensed before he could stop himself, turning his head away to watch the northern horizon again with narrowed eyes. He hated divulging details that could reveal the extent of his abilities, reminding Ellana and anyone else within earshot that he was _different_ and _other,_ to the point that he'd been deified and vilified once already. Would it happen again after his actions today?

Choosing to answer evasively, he said, "I _do_ have limitations, vhenan."

She smirked at him. "And what would those be?"

In Elvhenan Solas had undergone similar scrutiny from Mythal when she'd suspected he wasn't just a very powerful Dreamer who'd escaped the upper class but was in fact an Evanuris. Hiding the true power he possessed had already been second nature to him then—and easier, because in truth he hadn't known what he could do—but he'd still revealed enough that she saw the truth. Now he had other reasons for trying to cover up what he could do and yet couldn't exactly deny his own strength or avoid using it if the People were at stake.

Sighing, Solas shot her a small, tight smile. "Let us hope you never find out."

She snorted, shaking her head. "I suppose you're right."

They fell into silence for a time and Solas admired the springtime sky, bright with the crystalline light of the Fade coloring it with hues of vibrant yellow, green, and pink. In the brilliance of the daylight sunshine the stalagmite-like rocks hovering in the sky here and there were green-gray rather than blackish. The Black City was to the northwest now, whereas a few days ago it'd been due south.

"It's so clear out here," Ellana murmured, motioning at the Black City. "Away from the canopy, I mean." In the Emerald Graves they'd rarely gotten an unobstructed view of the sky. "Why does it move?" she asked.

Solas shot her a sideways look as he considered his answer. As per his usual, he'd revealed little of his full knowledge, even to Ellana. It was likely time to change that. Weighing his words for a moment, he squared his shoulders and tucked his hands behind his back as he spoke. "An illusory enchantment," he explained. "It takes advantage of the Fade's malleability and alters our perception of it."

The keen intelligence in her green eyes made him want to smile as he saw understanding dawn—though he didn't due to the forbidding nature of their current topic. "So…could someone dispel the effect and see where it _truly_ is?" the note of fear in her voice made it sharp.

Nodding, Solas said, "Yes." Staring at the ugly black spires of the city, Solas frowned. He'd worried about the inevitability of curious mages trying to reach the Black City before and knew eventually someone would try and likely succeed. Such an event would prove disastrous and Solas didn't have any idea how to combat that danger. He'd originally hoped to kill the Evanuris sleeping there in his initial plan to destroy the Veil, because the two were intrinsically tied. Destroying the Veil would waken the Evanuris and killing the Evanuris would inevitably cause the Veil to fail.

"Someone could reach it," Ellana said, carrying her thought to its logical conclusion. "And it wouldn't even be all that hard. Enough Dreamers working together could make a tower like this one and—"

"Yes," Solas said, locking his gaze with hers.

"But we cannot allow that to happen," she said, eyes wide and fraught with alarm. Solas noticed Mahanon had also turned to gawk at them, his mouth open and his hazel eyes wide.

"You have a plan, right?" Mahanon asked and chuckled anxiously. "Tell me you have a plan to deal with that…"

"The last thing we need is a Blight," Ellana agreed, nodding at her brother with a grim expression.

Blight was actually _not_ Solas' primary fear. With the Forgotten Ones now dead the Blight and the Darkspawn under its tainted power would be little more dangerous than any other natural illness—at least until someone else with enough power and knowledge learned to control it. The Blight's terrible power had always been that it was _magic_ as much as disease, and magic meant it was under someone or some _thing's_ control.

He saw Lyris watching him, her head cocked slightly and her eyes questioning. The others as well—Var and Mathrel—would be following his lead and listening to him carefully. Like him they knew far more than Ellana and Mahanon, but they didn't know what they should or should not reveal.

Solas realized with a sigh that he wasn't certain either. Was it wise to reveal to the modern elves—and eventually the humans and other races—that the magic and power sustaining the Veil stemmed from seven trapped elves so powerful that they'd been believed gods? Creators? How long before some intrepid fool decided to find out the truth firsthand, Blight or not? How long before a demon possessed some wayward elven mage beyond the sanctuary of the Dales and drove its victim to breach the Black City to destroy the Veil?

Feeling both Mahanon and Ellana's stares, Solas forced himself to answer. "I _had_ a plan, yes. But that plan would no longer work."

Mahanon groaned. "Fenedhis. Really?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Solas admitted with a touch of irritation making him terse. Shooting Ellana a meaningful look, he added, "I have been unavoidably detained and distracted for some time."

"You disappoint me, Fen'Harel," Lyris teased with a smirk. "I'd have thought you'd have a plan for dealing with this by now."

Solas huffed his irritation at her, frowning, but he couldn't think of anything to say in reprimand as Ellana chuckled at his expense. He felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment and shot her a quick glare. Then, catching a glint from the corner of his eye, Solas turned fully toward the horizon and saw the shape of the approaching Orlesian army had changed. Grunting, he said, "They have divided their forces, as I suspected. The bulk will likely head to Halamshiral to secure the city, but two additional smaller groups will move to surround the palace: one from the north and the other from the south, I expect."

Ellana nodded, squinting out at the horizon. "I think you're right."

"What do we do?" Mahanon asked, his voice and expression tight with worry.

"You will continue to keep watch," Solas instructed calmly as he rolled his shoulders and drew in a deep breath, reaching inward to caress his mana core, feeling over it as he considered his next action. "I will do what must be done."

"And that is…what, exactly?" Mahanon asked, still anxious.

Solas ignored him and walked quickly to his left to the western vantage point, watched currently by Lyris who stepped aside for him at once. Overlooking Halamshiral a few miles out, Solas breathed in and out in a slow, even pattern as he extended one hand open palmed—as if reaching to grab something. They'd restored the Fade around the city in a perimeter of about a mile deliberately, under Solas' guidance. Now he enacted that plan, feeling the ether all around him and distantly rising up and responding to his will. It clicked inside him, connecting to his mana just as it had when he'd conjured up the tower.

Envisioning a solid, thick wall of ice, Solas closed his eyes and clenched his hand into a fist as he let out a long, slow exhale. The Fade ether rose from the earth and appeared from thin air, thickening into a sudden green fog as it began to take shape. As it solidified the magic drew on his magic, sucking at it hungrily, as ravenous as tiny Sylvun when he nursed. The draw was more than anything Solas had expended since waking and he felt his body flush suddenly cold, though paradoxically he also began to sweat. His heartbeat sped up into a staccato beat, skipping and stuttering, and then it began to slow. It was like diving into chilled water, sinking deeper into the depths as the magic drew more and more in a steady but sustainable stream. If he were to reach his limits the reaction would change to one of panic, heat, and weakness.

There'd only been twice in Solas' long life—pre-Veil, anyway—that he'd felt the panicky, weak flush of overextending himself. The first had been when he'd been tied to a magic-absorbing metal "tree" by Andruil. The "tree" normally wouldn't have been enough to empty his mana reserves, but Andruil had also used warded ropes that strangled his mana regeneration. The second time, however, had been far worse: when the Veil went up and his own machinations and plans had nearly trapped him alongside the other Evanuris. The Anchor had been what saved him then, but he'd fallen from the Fade too weak to waken for millennia.

Now he'd see how much he had truly recovered after all.

The spell released its grip on him and Solas drew in a deep breath, opening his eyes and letting his hand fall to his side again. Surveying his work, Solas smiled with satisfaction as he saw the blue-white glacial ice wall curling in a half circle around Halamshiral. It rose taller and thicker than the city's protective walls, steaming in the afternoon sunshine and gleaming with moisture. He sensed Mahanon and Ellana's shock and awe but didn't turn to see their faces, unwilling to see their reactions.

"Fenedhis," Mahanon cursed in a breathy whisper.

Feeling his core settle, rapidly recharging, Solas focused away from the city for now, pivoting to face a more northwesterly position. Ellana was at his side before he could begin, laying a hand on his bicep and staring up at him with a concerned look. "Are you all right, emma lath?" She reached up with her other hand and brushed her knuckles tenderly at his temple. Solas felt her fingers smear the moisture of his sweat over his skin. "Do you need a rest?" she asked.

He smiled at her but shook his head. "No, only a few heartbeats to ready the next cast."

She nodded, though consternation clouded her features and made her jaw partly fall slack. She stepped back from him, letting Solas focus on the northern horizon and the land stretching between Halamshiral and the winter palace. Again he stretched out a hand, open palm to the horizon, and reached for the Fade ether. It'd take several walls to barricade them from the approaching army and only Solas had the reserves to perform such a massive feat without utterly draining himself.

Bracing for the next draw, Solas took a deep breath and felt the Fade latch onto him as before. Closing his eyes, he let the magic flow.

* * *

Ellana watched in quiet awe over the next half-hour as Solas erected a wall of ice that stretched for miles around the palace and Halamshiral, encircling the land in between as well. After each casting Ellana held her breath, seeing the sweat on Solas' brow and expecting him to collapse from exertion. How could one man conjure so much—literally tons and tons of ice—from thin air _without_ growing exhausted?

She could feel the magic he spun whipping over their group like winds from a violent storm, whipping her skin with prickling sensations of hot and cold. Her own mana reserves seemed to churn with excess energy, as if stirred by Solas' magic. Could he draw on her or the others if he needed? Of course she knew her mana would be like a thimble of water beside the Waking Sea and would do little to help Solas if he did run low. She still had precious little experience and training with her own magic.

Finally Solas completed the circle and relaxed again, letting the invisible currents and eddies of magic in the air settle so that they were little more than a caress now against Ellana's skin. It was the usual blissful song of the restored Fade, thrumming in her blood.

"Fenedhis lasa," Mahanon swore breathily. "I cannot believe what I've just witnessed." He turned in a slow circle, eyes wide as he stared out at the blue-white ice that now encircled the plains, the city, and the palace in an enormous oval. The walls glistened in the sunshine, slick and moist and absolutely incongruous in this springtime landscape filled with green grass and new life.

The Elvhen in the tower seemed nonchalant, jaded to the unbelievable amount of power Solas had displayed. Ellana wondered what other breathtaking things would be mundane to them. What had they seen in Elvhenan?

Solas wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, making a humming sound in the back of his throat that was neither satisfaction nor frustration. "I cannot say how long the ice will last in the sun—or against Orlesian mages."

"Will you be able to repair it if it melts quickly?" Ellana asked, her voice tight. She resisted the desire to wring her hands with the nervousness coiling inside her stomach. As much as she wanted to maintain her ideal of passive resistance with the Orlesian army, she wasn't about to let them break through and harm anyone in the palace or the city. Her mind kept jumping to Rinaya, her mother, and Sylvun with a twitchy insistence.

Solas shot her a compassionate look and she suspected he understood her dilemma. "I very much doubt the army will be able to melt the ice faster than I can reform it." He frowned. "However, they may prove more resourceful than any of us anticipated and could scale the walls."

Ellana nodded, chewing her lip. "They arrived expecting to lay siege to Halamshiral." The city had walls of its own, as many larger settlements did. That meant the Orlesians would've come prepared to breach those walls.

"The city elves can fight off a few stray soldiers breaching the walls with ladders," Mahanon said, though he scowled as if he didn't like the idea. His hazel eyes drifted to Solas and then Ellana, darting between them. "But it would be better if we could stop them before the People have to fight one on one."

"I think what you're trying to say is it would be better if Fen'Harel stopped them before that," Var said, smirking as he clapped Mahanon playfully on the shoulder.

Mahanon's lips twitched in an almost sheepish expression, as if Var had caught him doing something embarrassing rather than covertly suggesting a tactic change. "Well," he mumbled, shrugging as he looked at Solas and then Ellana again. "That's another way of putting it."

Mathrel flashed a hard grin from his side of the watchtower. "It's time you showed the shemlen what it means to be an enemy of the People, Fen'Harel."

A muscle fluttered in Solas' temple and he turned his head to meet Ellana's stare with a furrowed brow. "What do you wish, vhenan?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Ellana tried not to feel the tense, excited moods of the others—even her own brother—silently calling for human blood. "We send ravens to Orlais and to the army asking for peace and warning them that they'll pay a heavy price if they refuse and attack us."

"They won't listen," Mathrel growled. "The Empress spent the last peace talks trying to have you killed."

"I know," Ellana rejoined, scowling at him. "I still want to try. This is the first time they've seen Solas' power." She smiled at him, aware of his tensing. "I'd like to give them a chance to renege on their warpath. It could save thousands of lives."

"Shemlen lives," Mathrel grumbled sourly.

"Enough," Solas snapped, slashing a hand in the warrior's direction impatiently. "I will default to Ellana's wisdom in this matter." Pivoting to face Var, he said, "Go to the city and send two ravens: one to the army outside the walls and the other to Val Royeaux for the Empress. Warn them both that breaching our walls would be a grave mistake and I will kill every last one of them should they be foolish enough to try my patience."

Var nodded and bolted for the stairs, Fade-stepping in a blur.

Solas looked at Ellana and heaved a sigh. She reached out to him, squeezing his forearm and smiling, though she knew it'd appear wan. "I fear they will not settle until they have forced my hand," he said.

"I fear the same," Lyris said. "And then they will only settle for peace because they know they cannot defeat you conventionally."

Solas nodded in her direction, his expression grim. "No enemy is without weakness," he agreed, frowning. "And once they know mine is not on the battlefield, they will search elsewhere." His blue eyes slid to Ellana, heavy and dark with gloom.

Licking her lips, Ellana said, "I should send a raven to Cassandra. We've heard nothing from her. She may be amenable to peace through diplomacy—especially if I'm the one who suggests it. She could pressure the Empress into letting the Dales go as well. I'm sure Briala will agree."

The gloom lifted from Solas' expression as he smiled at her. "An excellent idea, vhenan," he said. "One we shall implement as soon as we can return to the palace."

* * *

The afternoon passed with their group watching from the tower as the Orlesian army approached the ice walls. The sounds of their horses whinnying and the haze from the dust kicked up by thousands of feet filled the air. Ellana found herself wishing she could see their consternation as they faced the ice walls. They couldn't feel the Fade the same way the People could, but the green mist rising from the earth and the frequent wisps that darted about the ice walls had to draw their attention—and hopefully their fear.

Ellana left the watchtower closer to dusk, determined to spend _some_ time with Sylvun despite the war that'd arrived almost literally on their doorstep. Solas remained in the field with most of his Elvhen generals and Dalish Firsts, but he sent Lyris as an escort back to the palace. After relieving her mother and Rinaya from babysitting, Ellana nursed and cuddled Sylvun herself as she drafted a letter for Cassandra to be sent at dawn via raven.

Rinaya had retreated through an eluvian to return to the Emerald Graves where Deya waited in the care of her maternal grandparents and other clan members, but both Ellana's mother and Lyris remained with her. When her mother brought a tray of tea spiced with calming herbs to help her rest Ellana sipped without giving it a second thought—only to grimace and quickly set the cup back down.

"What did you put in that, mamae?" she asked quietly, cuddling Sylvun close in his sling. The tiny baby was asleep, oblivious to the world as long as they didn't startle him awake with movement or sound.

Her mother smiled as she fingered the tray she'd placed on the nightstand at Ellana's bedside. "Fenugreek."

Ellana huffed with irritation. "Really, mamae? I have enough milk." Her breasts had ached, heavy and swollen, whenever she missed a feeding over the last few days. Inevitably she missed feedings regularly because she was needed elsewhere constantly. Rinaya had been feeding Sylvun to keep him satisfied while Ellana was away. However, with each passing day since the birth, skipping feedings had become more painful. She'd found herself fidgety with anxiousness and mounting discomfort earlier that day, counting down to the moment when she could find relief in feeding Sylvun. The last thing she needed was to _increase_ that supply.

"This herb you mentioned increases milk production?" Lyris asked, both eyebrows raised.

Ellana's mother nodded. "It often does, yes. I always have some on hand for new mothers." She faced her daughter, hands on her hips. "If Rinaya continues feeding Deya _and_ Sylvun your milk will start to dry up. You'll never have enough for him if you're not feeding him more often." With a gesture at Ellana where she lied in bed, propped up by pillows, her mother added, "Besides, I know the women in my family are never the producers that some other women are."

"Meaning Rinaya," Ellana supplied with a chuckle.

"There were spells used in my time," Lyris put in. "I take it these have been forgotten by your clan?"

"Do you know the spells?" Ellana's mother asked, immediately locking onto Lyris with the intensity of a hawk focusing on her prey.

Lyris shook her head with a look of regret. "No, ir abelas. I—" She broke off as all three women heard and sensed the crackle of magic just outside the room. Lyris bolted upright, drawing the hilt of her spectral blade and lighting it up with a buzzing noise. The whitish light of the magic, which drew directly on the Fade, was brighter than Ellana had ever seen it.

"Fade leaping," the arcane warrior said, apparently recognizing the spell the person in the corridor outside their room had used. Her blue eyes flicked toward Ellana. "Elvhen magic, a spell lost to shem elves. It could be one of Mythal's sentinels."

Could it be Solas or an ally? Or was it indeed possible Mythal had chosen this moment to return? Heart pounding and muscles tensing, Ellana shifted on the bed, ready to get up and defend herself even as her mother edged into a position to shield her. Lyris called out, "Who's there?"

"Atisha, emma lath," Mathrel's familiar voice answered. _Peace, my love._

The three women all breathed a collective sigh of relief as Mathrel's armored form thumped into the room. His armor glimmering in the dim orange light cast not by candles but by a magical illumination that Lyris had provided and his expression appeared pinched and unhappy—more than usual.

"What news?" Ellana asked, instinctually holding Sylvun closer.

"Fen'Harel sent me to keep you abreast of the situation," Mathrel told her, voice gruff. "The Orlesians have begun employing their siege weapons against the ice wall. It is holding up well against the onslaught, but Fen'Harel froze the apparatuses to cease their firing."

Ellana nodded, trying—and failing, she suspected—to hide how impressive the feat was even hearing it secondhand. Solas would've had to freeze the trebuchets from miles away in the watchtower. "Will that stop the siege weapons entirely or will they be able to fire again when the mechanisms thaw?"

"Some will be broken for good," Mathrel told her with a tight smile. "But others will return to working order." He shifted his weight from one foot to another, making his armor clink where it was heaviest around his thighs. "Such weapons did not exist in Elvhenan, so it is difficult to predict with certainty." With a dip of his head he added, "But there is a more pressing matter and Fen'Harel seeks your guidance and consent."

Ellana ignored her mother's sidelong look of surprise and said, "I'm listening." Whatever it was it must be important and volatile enough in nature that Solas couldn't risk leaving the battleground. She felt her heart lurch into her throat, anticipating bad news.

Brown eyes narrowing somberly, Mathrel said, "The shemlen have begun scaling the ice walls around Halamshiral in significant numbers. The Dalish and the city elves have both held them at bay. Zevanni leads them. But the assault on the city troubles Fen'Harel because it is too _visible._ The shemlen soldiers carry torches that make them easy targets as they climb the siege ladders."

"Perhaps they are more concerned with lighting their way?" Ellana's mother asked, arching an eyebrow. "Shemlen have never been altogether stealthy people."

"That's not it, mamae," Ellana said with a sharp shake of he rhead. "Why attack at night in the first place? And why Halamshiral? They know the city has stone walls beyond the ice Solas has cast. They are like fish dashing themselves against the rocks when they could simply swim around."

"A diversion," Lyris concluded with a knowing nod. "They hope to focus attention to Halamshiral while they infiltrate the palace."

"It's not fortified the way Halamshiral is," Ellana agreed. "And they know the eluvians are here in the palace, not in the city." She stroked over the soft halla leather, feeling Sylvun's warmth through it and distantly hearing the tiny little whistle of his breathing.

Mathrel nodded. "This is Fen'Harel's suspicion as well and it is why I Fade leapt to reach you as fast as I could." Ellana had gathered that outright teleportation was something only extremely powerful mages—possibly only Evanuris—could manage. _Fade leaping_ must be an intermediate version of that trick, allowing middle-class mages of average talent, like Mathrel, to go further than mere Fade stepping allowed.

"What does Solas want to do?" she asked, voice somber.

Mathrel blinked at her and answered in deadpan. "End them, of course."

"The ones scaling the walls around Halamshiral?" she asked, though she already suspected she was wrong in that guess.

Mathrel shook his head. "The entire army."

She winced. "I had hoped to avoid that."

"The shemlen are beyond saving," Mathrel growled. "Do not hobble Fen'Harel with your sympathies to them or you will doom the People when we are _so_ close to—"

"Fenedhis," Ellana interrupted him with a snarl. "I will _not_ doom the People by trying to save human lives. There's enough room in Thedas for all of us." She pinched the bridge of her nose, heaving a long sigh of irritation before she said, "Tell Solas there must be a middle ground between razing the whole army and stopping the attack. We must think up some strategy to—"

"There is no time," Mathrel shouted. "They are likely scaling the walls around the palace as we speak. Fen'Harel can end them. Now. Tonight."

Sylvun had begun to squirm, whimpering as Mathrel's shouting had awakened him. Ellana patted and rocked him as she glared at Mathrel. "Freeze the army with a blizzard. Freeze the entire battlefield, inside the ice walls and beyond if he can manage it. Our people can use runes to stay warm while the Orlesians will freeze. If they do not retreat they will die and the cold and wind will thwart their attempts to scale the walls, both here and in Halamshiral."

Mathrel stared at her a moment, his expression tight and unreadable. Then, gradually, a smile curled over his lips. "Ma nuvenin. I will relay your strategy to hahren." With a quick glance at Lyris he spun on his heel and strode from the room. A heartbeat later Ellana felt the tingle of magic and heard the popping noise of the spell he'd cast—Fade leaping again, doubtless.

"I will lay out wards," Lyris said. "We must expect attack as well as cold tonight."

Ellana glanced toward the window, seeing only the darkness of the nighttime beyond. She cuddled Sylvun, who'd already begun to drift back to sleep with the disturbance now gone. "I wish I could see it," she murmured with a small sigh. As much as she knew she'd never regret or wish away her unexpected but beautiful little son, Ellana hated the twisting inside her—the conflicting needs and roles. Motherhood was still so new and daunting and demanding. She wanted nothing more than to focus on raising and bonding with Sylvun, but Thedas and the People were also riding on her shoulders.

Lyris chuckled, a dark note tainting the sound and drawing Ellana's curious stare. "You'll see it, Lana," she said. "Fen'Harel is an Evanuris. Such power is anything but subtle."

As if on cue a rumbling sound rose up, rattling the windows of the palace. Wind whistled, groaning as it raced by, tearing open the shutters. Ellana's mother scrambled to secure them with a yelp. Outside Ellana saw white snowflakes tearing by suddenly and as she gasped she realized her breath had grown foggy with the abrupt, fierce chill that'd descended. Shivering, she huddled Sylvun closer to her. _What did I unleash?_

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Vhenan," Solas greeted her at once, his blue eyes skipping over her form, doubtless in search of the sling she often wore if she was carrying Sylvun out with her. "What of Sylvun?" he asked her a heartbeat later, brow furrowing.

"I left him with mamae," she said, then, seeing his expression warp with worry, she added, "And Rinaya. And Shila. And Deshanna. And Var. And Taehon. And Negan. And—"

Zevanni snorted, interrupting her with a laugh. "You can relax, hahren. Lavellan is just as paranoid about the elfling's safety as you are." She looked to Ellana with a smirk. "What is that? Half of your clan to guard him?"


	48. Beloved of the Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Abelas have a long-needed chat and repel Orlesian attacks about the winter palace. Ellana continues to try and open lines of dialog between the elves and Orlais and the Chantry.

The blizzard spell Solas cast over the entire battlefield—from Halamshiral to the winter palace and everywhere in between—could have drawn its power from the raw Fade itself, meaning Solas didn't have to sustain it beyond the initial mana needed to cast it. Yet Solas chose to let the spell feed primarily from his own core, though it left him somewhat lightheaded and limited what he could cast without disrupting the blizzard. It was a necessary sacrifice, however, because Solas wanted to ensure the Fade remained stoked with ether to fuel the thousands of warmth runes that the People would be drawing to stay comfortable during the storm. Even the Fade had its limits and with only a relatively small area restored those restrictions would prove severe.

The wind howled in his ears as he stared out into the darkness beyond the winter palace's balcony. Solas had drawn runes on his armor to ward away the chill, but he could still feel the ferocity of the storm blowing against him. The force of it made him squint his eyes and shiver involuntarily.

The wall he'd cast around the palace rose up ahead of him about fifty meters out through the empty rolling hills and grasses. The smooth ice gleamed in the faint moonlight that managed to peek in through the storm clouds. Solas had teleported here after hearing back from Mathrel regarding Ellana's decision on how to deal with what he suspected was a sneak attack by the Orlesians. The army probably expected that Solas would keep women and children in the palace, in relative comfort and close to the eluvians.

It was the eluvians as much as the vulnerable and valuable hostages that the Orlesians would want to secure. While they assaulted Halamshiral as a distraction, far fewer men could scale the ice wall around the palace and try to claim it.

For close to an hour Solas had watched the wall from this balcony with Mathrel at the opposite end, both of them shielded from the cold wind whipping past them by magic. There'd been no sign yet of a sneak attack and Solas would've expected one by now. Yet he didn't dare leave. The moment he did the inevitable attack would come and he refused to be caught unprepared.

Mathrel's armor clinked metallically as he shifted and looked toward Solas, his gruff voice drawing him out of his reverie. "How likely is it that these shemlen have given up the fight due to the storm?"

"It is possible," Solas conceded with a nod. "But I suspect they are merely delayed." Jutting his chin out to indicate the ice wall and the battlefield overall, Solas added, "Having setup their distraction and sacrificed soldiers to it, I doubt they will allow the night to pass without making their move."

"You drive the storm," Mathrel observed with a grunt as he leaned forward against the railing at the edge of the balcony. "Is that wise? Zevanni and the foci are in Halamshiral."

Solas chuckled, shooting Mathrel a sidelong glance through the dark. "Are you frightened you will not be able to assist me adequately?"

The arcane warrior snorted. "I am merely cautioning you, hahren. You are not fully recovered after uthenera."

"I was not aware you had become an expert on my recovery," Solas commented, keeping his voice lighthearted even as a small frown tugged at the edges of his mouth. In truth, he suspected Mathrel was correct, though the enormous blizzard spell would've proven difficult regardless. Still, the faint dizziness in the back of his mind and the fatigue dragging his shoulders down seemed more severe than it should be.

"I have known you for centuries, Fen'Harel," Mathrel reminded him with a closed-lipped smirk. "I can read your body language. This spell taxes you. I cannot help but remember that should you burn yourself out we will lose our biggest advantage against these shemlen." He crossed his arms over his chest, the sound of his clanking armor clear in spite of the roar of wind.

Solas sighed and opened his mouth to reassure the arcane warrior but froze as his gaze caught movement on the ice wall. Narrowing his eyes with fresh interest, Solas watched the gleam on the ice until he saw what had caught his attention: a shadow disrupting the light. After a moment he recognized the shape as a man in armor abseiling down the ice wall.

Reaching out with one hand, Solas imagined fire and felt his mana core ripple as both the blizzard spell and the fire spell drew from him. Orange yellow light engulfed the shadowy shape of the armored man. His screams rang out, high pitched and keening with fear and horror. The rope supporting him caught fire and burned, snapping. The fiery shape fell, streaking as it lit up the darkness that obscured the lower reaches of the ice wall.

"Shemlen fools," Mathrel growled, his hand going at once to his waist where the hilt of his spectral blade waited. "Do you think he could have survived the fall?"

"The fall?" Solas asked, drawing in a deep breath and blinking away the brief rush of dizziness as his core recovered from the casting. "Yes. But the sudden stop of the landing likely proved far more painful. And the fire as well."

Mathrel grunted, the only acknowledgement that he found Solas' attempt at levity to be amusing. "Say the word and I will patrol the boundary to ensure none of them survive."

"Very well," Solas said with a nod of his head. "I will ignite them and you can finish them off." Already Solas could see another shadow appear over the lip of the ice wall and begin abseiling downward in a desperate scramble. With a casual wave of his hand Solas ignited this new warrior as well. He restrained a wince as the second man fell to the snowy ground, burning and screaming. From the very moment he'd realized that this Tranquil world's inhabitants were no less real than Elvhenan, regardless of race, he'd had to contend with the knowledge that everyone he killed had a family, loved ones, and a future that Solas denied them. But, of course, he had little choice in the matter and would never hesitate.

"Be careful, falon," Solas said. "I believe they may be chevaliers."

"The very best shemlen warriors?" Mathrel asked with a smirk. "I hope they are. I will enjoy the chance to test my mettle against them."

"Shall I allow one to reach the ground uninjured?" Solas asked with a lopsided smile. Another shadow caught his eye as it disrupted the glimmer of faint light against the lip of ice. Idly, Solas cast more fire with a wave of his hand, grimacing at the brief vertigo it caused him.

Mathrel watched the latest human warrior fall like a shooting star, careening while still aflame into the snow drifts below. He snorted. "Don't do me any favors, hahren." Then, with a whine and a sharp popping sound, Mathrel streaked away in a blur of motion, landing dozens of meters below in the snow before Fade leaping again toward the ice wall.

Solas sighed to himself, torn between callous humor and something like sympathy toward the foolish Orlesians. As another warrior caught his eye Solas switched to ice with a flick of his fingers, freezing the Orlesian solid. The ice statue dropped to the ground with a thump, shattering like glass that Solas' sharp ears managed to pick out despite the howl of the wind. He saw Mathrel's dark shape darting along the boundary of the ice wall, his spectral blade glowing white in the blackness.

"Ma nuvenin," Solas murmured as he watched the arcane warrior run an injured chevalier through with his spectral blade. Another shadow appeared and then another. Solas cast ice on them both, finding it easier than fire, and swayed on his feet with dizziness. Shaking his head to clear it, Solas refocused, refusing to ease up. But as he blinked he saw three more warriors had rapidly ascended the top of the ice wall and had begun rapidly abseiling downward.

Gritting his teeth, Solas drew on Fade ether lingering near the ice wall, shaping it into rock. He hurled the jagged black rocks at the warriors, striking them and shattering the stone. The men fell from their ropes, limp and screaming as they careened into the snowdrifts at the base of the wall. Mathrel Fade leaped to each man as he landed, skewering him to be certain he wouldn't be a threat.

But more kept coming. Using the Fade ether rather than his own mana reserves, Solas flung more rocks at the next five chevaliers who abseiled down the ice wall. Those men had barely fallen to the snow when more appeared over the ice wall's lip. Absorbed in his casting and Fade-shaping, Solas missed the gentle metallic clap of feet on the marbled floor behind him until the newcomer was already on the balcony.

With a quick jerk of his head, Solas glanced over his shoulder even as he erected a barrier over himself with a flick of the fingers in one hand. Through the shadows he recognized Abelas, hooded and somber. "What are you doing here?" he asked, too busy with the attack to bother restraining his irritation at seeing the former sentinel leader. Although he'd long since decided against killing Abelas to punish him for abandoning him in the fight against the Forgotten Ones and in encouraging Ellana to leave, he still despised the other Elvhen man.

Though, if he was honest with himself, Solas had to admit that he owed Abelas a lot. The former sentinel's defection from Mythal had allowed him to save Ellana from the false goddess' plot.

Instead of answering Solas' question, Abelas posed one of his own. "You are not using the Fade to fuel this storm?"

"No," Solas replied tersely. Three chevaliers had begun abseiling down the wall while he was distracted. "Fenedhis," he cursed and quickly slashed his hand through the air, summoning three stones from Fade ether and smashing each human warrior, one right after another. They fell to the snow as streaks of shadow, their cries faint over the shrieking wind. As Mathrel Fade stepped to execute the latest warriors, Solas asked again, "Why are you here?"

"I left Halamshiral when it became clear the shemlen had no hope of winning against us. Zevanni would have sent Var, but I volunteered to go in his stead." He inclined his head toward the ice wall in the distance. "I hoped to be of use in defending the palace against opportunistic attacks aimed at noncombatants."

Solas nodded, pushing aside any irritation and resentment he felt toward the other man in favor of ensuring the current battle's success. "Ma serannas." He gestured at the ice wall to the newest chevaliers who'd appeared, dark shadows against the glinting wall.

Abelas stepped forward and stretched out his hand, making a slashing motion as he cast lightning. The purplish light flickered wildly, gleaming on the ice, and then the man fell with a cry. The warrior was still alive after the fall, though he was twitchy and far too slow to rise, making him easy prey for Mathrel. The arcane warrior tirelessly zipped between spots, spectral blade glowing a brilliant white in the darkness. He quickly dispatched the chevalier while both Solas and Abelas watched from the balcony overhead.

"Do you believe the shemlen will be thwarted by the blizzard?" Abelas asked, his voice stiff and cold. His breath puffed in the air in front of him.

"It has not stopped them yet," Solas replied. "But in time I suspect they will retreat." He sighed, frowning as he debated divulging more and decided against it. In truth, Solas suspected retreat wouldn't be enough to stop the long-term battle. If the Divine did declare an Exalted March he'd be stuck here, fighting them in whatever method Ellana preferred until she finally realized peace would only come through decisive and violent victory.

In mere seconds Solas knew he could obliterate this Orlesian army in its entirety. With the mana he used to fuel the blizzard instead directed into a single firestorm or a massive mindblast Solas could end this battle in such a way that not only the Orlesians, but all the rest of humanity would realize they had no hope of defeating him. And yet…he could also see the value to staying his hand and hiding the true strength of his powers. Let the humans believe him capable only of defense on a massive scale.

"But their retreat is not synonymous with our victory," Abelas said, too clever not to read Solas' unspoken meaning.

Clenching his jaw, Solas ignored the former sentinel as he saw another chevalier and hurled a Fade stone at the man with a dull thump and a clatter. Before the warrior had even hit the ground, Solas shot Abelas a snarling look over his shoulder. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, again not bothering to disguise his irritation.

"You have chosen to defend the palace and the city rather than destroy the shemlen." With a wave of his hand, Abelas shot a fireball at the next chevalier who'd appeared over the lip of the ice wall and scowled as the man careened into the snow below, screaming and aflame. "While I feel no love for them, I admire your restraint—though I know it is not truly yours."

"I have no desire or need for your admiration." Solas bristled, eyes narrowing. "Did you come here merely to antagonize me? If so you are wasting both my time and yours." Despite the dizziness it cost him, Solas used fire on the next two warriors who'd appeared, scrambling to abseil down the wall. Both men screeched as they caught fire and the ropes holding them snapped as they burned. But halfway down the wall in their fall both men went silent as the inferno consumed them, leaving only a bundle of ash to hit the snow.

"My point," Abelas said in an even tone, "Fen'Harel, is that I know the People cannot achieve victory in this modern world without an Evanuris—without _you_. Yet I also feared the future you would create for us if you ruled alone. That is why I and the other sentinels never sought to leave Mythal's service. We agreed with Mythal's greater plan to rule jointly with you." He closed his eyes, dipping his head downward slightly. "But I left her service when I realized she intended to trick Ellana in search of a new vessel…and when I began to view Ellana as a viable alternative to Mythal."

A chill swept through Solas, setting his muscles taut. Why was Abelas coming forward with this now? Solas didn't believe Abelas was entirely sincere. Suspicious thoughts repeatedly intruded into his mind. What evidence did he have that Mythal and Abelas hadn't planned _all_ of this? Abelas' help in saving Ellana from Mythal's hidden compulsion, exposing her plan to Ellana rather than to Solas directly, was the perfect way to get the former sentinel back into his good graces. Yet simultaneously, what if Abelas truly had switched allegiance? He'd be a valuable ally with priceless insight on Mythal.

Another shadow of movement along the ice wall drew Solas' gaze and he quickly, almost absently, conjured and hurled another Fade stone at the man. Then, staring at Abelas and grimacing against the brush of the wind—only lessened by his magic rather than removed entirely—Solas said, "I find it troubling that you did not bring me news of her plans immediately after leaving her service."

Abelas wrinkled his nose. "You would not have believed me."

Whipping around to face the sentinel and taking a stiff step closer to him, Solas snarled, "You think I would not believe Mythal planned to compel ma vhenan into becoming her new host? Or taking our child as a hostage?" He scoffed, flashing his teeth like a snarling wolf. "Clearly you did not know your own so-called goddess. How many children did she steal away from the families of political rivals as mere babes to be her hostages against them? How many of your fellow sentinels were actually children she'd stolen as _disciples?"_

The former sentinel frowned. "You misunderstood my meaning. It was my motivation I feared you'd doubt." He hesitated, lips pinching in a hard line. "I nearly warned Ellana, but I knew that unless I stopped the trap as it happened Mythal would never go through with stabilizing the Anchor. If I revealed Mythal's plans you would have learned of it and act preemptively. Ellana would have lost her arm _and_ the Anchor."

Solas withdrew from Abelas a step, letting out a huffing breath, the nonverbal sound the only cue he could give that the former sentinel's insight had been correct.

As if sensing his advantage, Abelas went on in a somber voice. "Hahren, I know you will never forgive myself and the sentinels for leaving during the fight with the Forgotten Ones, but you should know we could not have stayed even had we wished to do so."

"You were under a compulsion," Solas finished for him, growling the words out. "Yes, I suspected as much—but I offered repeatedly to remove the vallaslin and all of you refused." Mythal had never been one for using the vallaslin she marked her followers with, but Solas had had no doubt that the magic was there nonetheless. It was why he had steadfastly refused to bear Mythal's vallaslin even when adopting her markings would have protected him from Andruil and the other Evanuris when he was thought just an oddball Dreamer who'd escaped the upper class.

"But I believe most of the sentinels likely feel as I do, or would have felt as I did had Mythal included them in her grander plans. It is my hope that should we encounter them again that you and Ellana will offer them another chance to remove the vallaslin. I believe many will choose to switch allegiance."

Solas had been distracted briefly by searching along the ice wall, scowling as he saw no other evidence of chevaliers. Had the Orlesians given up their attack? But as Abelas' words sunk in Solas blinked and glanced toward the former sentinel with his brow knitted. "And do you believe we may soon encounter your brethren again?"

Wariness flashed over Abelas' expression. "The chaos of a battle such as this one seems to me just the situation Mythal would use to her advantage, yes."

Grunting, Solas faced forward again, trying to keep his heart from hammering in his chest with the breathless clutch of fear. He'd left Ellana with Lyris and the palace had dozens of Dalish Firsts to guard it from within. They had one eluvian functioning that led to the Emerald Graves, but otherwise Solas had not sensed any of the mirrors activate nearby.

"I will bear your warning in mind," Solas told Abelas and meant it. He offered the former sentinel a small smile, as genuine as he could make it, to ensure Abelas understood his appreciation.

Abelas nodded with a significant dip of his chin. "Ma serannas, hahren."

Seeing the ice wall still appeared abandoned below, Solas watched Mathrel patrolling along it in a stiff, militant stride through the snow. The wind whipped past the balcony, tugging at Solas' headdress. "Tell me," he said, shouting against the wind. "What do you know of Mythal's other long-term plans? She wished to rule jointly, you said?" _There had to be more…_

"Yes," Abelas replied. "There was more, but I was privy to mere fragments."

"It seems the attack here may be finished," Solas said, gesturing to the wall. He shot Abelas a tight look, his eyes narrowed against the ferocity of the wind that his own mana fueled. "We may have time to discuss these mere fragments. Indulge me."

* * *

Just after dawn Ellana stood in the palace's rookery, which was located near the servant quarters and guard barracks. The letters she'd composed to Divine Victoria—Cassandra—and Celene still clutched in her hand. Sylvun slept in the sling around her shoulders, cradled by her other hand. A palace servant who was familiar with caring for and handling the rookery's ravens was currently prepping the bird for its flight to Val Royeaux. The young elven man kept sneaking quick, nervous glances in Ellana's direction and stammered whenever she tried to talk to him.

When the servant had finished securing the scroll carrier around the raven's leg, Ellana passed the sealed letter to him with a small smile. He took the letter from her gingerly, as if frightened he might be burned from her touch or offend her if their fingers accidentally grazed one another.

_Perhaps it's closer to that than I'd have thought,_ she realized as it occurred to her that this youth had only been a mage for a few days. He probably _was_ frightened of the new power residing inside him.

"Have you had any magic lessons?" she asked gently.

He flinched, freezing as he tried to tuck the small scroll into the carrier on the bird's leg. The raven cawed at him impatiently, fluttering its wings. The young elf made a cooing noise and quickly stroked the side of its head. The raven leaned into his touch, calming.

"No, your worship. I've had no lessons. One of the Dalish offered to help me the first day, but…" He swallowed, the gulping sound almost comical in its loudness.

"You're afraid of your own magic, aren't you?" Ellana asked, laying a hand on his shoulder, hoping to reassure him.

The youth nodded, his eyes wide. "I can't help it. My mum, Maker rest her, read me the Chant every night. Magic is dangerous, it is." He shook his head. "I don't want it."

"I understand it is an overwhelming change," Ellana said, cautious and soft so as not to frighten or antagonize him. "It was strange and frightening for me too, at first." She broke off, chuckling as she let go of his shoulder and glanced at her palm—the right one this time. "I suppose it still is. I'm still getting used to it. But there's nothing inherently evil with magic. The Chant doesn't say magic is evil, does it?"

The youth stared at her a moment and then his gaze skittered away. "No, your worship. I s'pose it doesn't."

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to," Ellana murmured. "If having magic is too frightening for you, you can leave through one of the eluvians. But please, take a little time to see if you can adjust to it. Magic is the birthright of the People and you are one of us. The homeland we create in the Dales won't be just for the Dalish. You understand that, right?"

He smiled at her, nodding. "Thank you, worship."

Returning to his work with the scroll, the youth slipped it easily inside the carrier and snapped it shut. With a last tug on it to be certain it was secure, the young man carried the raven toward the large open window. The morning beyond was gray, the clouds thick enough to completely obscure the sunrise. Snow flurries whipped out of the sky, the wind moaning continuously.

Ellana wrapped both arms around Sylvun's sling, instinctually worried he'd be cold despite the runes Lyris had helped her paint over the halla leather to ward away the chill. How long could Solas truly sustain this storm? She shuddered at the thought, again frightened of what she'd unleashed.

The young boy untied the cord from the raven's leg that kept it secured to the thick leather glove he wore to handle it. The raven, clever enough to know when it was released, leapt into the air with a clap of its feathery wings. Fighting the wind, it soared upward, free and fast, then curled north toward its destination: the Orlesian capital.

"Do you think those snotty Orlesians will listen?" he asked.

"No," Ellana answered at once with a sigh. "But I still hope the Divine will." Everything she'd done in trying to spare the Orlesians had been to dissuade Cassandra from an Exalted March in the hopes of opening up a true dialogue for peace. Now all she could do was hope it hadn't been in vain.

* * *

Under the onslaught of the blizzard, and with the ice walls Solas had erected around the city and the palace, the Orlesians gave up on their attack after only two days. Although they spent the majority of their time after their attempts to scale the walls hunkered down in their tents around weak bonfires, trying to stay warm, Solas reported nearly five hundred Orlesians had died. Most of them had perished in trying to attack Halamshiral, but a few dozen had also been killed scaling the ice walls outside the palace.

Using wisps to be their eyes and ears, scouts had reported that the Orlesians retreated when their horses had begun dying of the cold and some of the men had developed frostbite. But the army had not gone far. They knew the blizzard ended abruptly a mile or so outside Halamshiral and the winter palace. So they camped in the hills just a few miles from the edge of the storm, brooding, like a burn scar on the land from a wildfire.

With the army having withdrawn for the moment, Solas allowed the blizzard spell to subside from the ferocious windstorm to a mere chill with the occasional flurry. The ongoing cold and slight snow was to dissuade the Orlesians from simply rushing back to the city, and to prevent the ice wall from melting faster with the return of spring in earnest.

Stir crazy from her time cooped up in the palace, Ellana had ventured out into the plains between Halamshiral and the winter palace. Lyris, Mahanon, Lerand, and Samhel accompanied her as she made the trek to the watchtower Solas had conjured halfway between the city and the palace. The snow was thigh-high in some drifts, which would've made the going virtually impossible for them if not for the runes Lyris had shown them at the start of the blizzard, anticipating just this struggle. The Elvhen had preferred to use eluvians wherever they could, but if they had to walk through difficult terrain they employed runes to create a magical barrier around the feet that prevented slipping, sliding, and sinking in snow. The result was that Ellana and her entourage had snowshoes conjured from the Fade, shimmering green-blue and iridescent—all thanks to a few unusual symbols Lyris had drawn over their feet and shins.

Ellana was still marveling over how well the rune-snowshoes worked when they reached the watchtower. Solas was atop it, keeping watch, as he had been since the army arrived. He sent messengers to her often—Var, Mathrel, the former palace servant Lanya, and others—to keep her informed and to ask her for guidance. Or instruction, actually.

Through the whistling sound of the wind rushing past her, Ellana could hear the faint sound of voices, one of them Solas'. Shivering, she regretted removing her ward against the cold before starting out. It'd been warm in the closed up palace and she'd expected she'd have to slog through the snow, which would inevitably make her sweat unless she could feel the real cold. A quick glance at her fellow clan members told her she wasn't alone in her miscalculation. Lerand and Samhel were both shivering violently, though Mahanon apparently had been smart enough to leave his ward active.

"Did you forget how to turn off the rune?" Lyris asked her, stepping forward. With Solas occupied and distracted Lyris had proven useful beyond measure because she was Elvhen and remembered the long-forgotten but utterly practical runes and spells of Elvhenan.

Ellana shook her head. "No." She stooped slightly, concentrating outward and feeling the core of her mana, still a little new to her after weeks out of the restored Fade in the Emerald Graves, connect with the rune and the ether in the world beyond. She felt the warm rush of the rune's passive magic swell as it flowed from the symbols over her shin and foot, draining into her. The snowshoe constructs flickered and then failed, letting Ellana sink into the snow at the base of the tower.

"Very good," Lyris praised her with a smile.

Mahanon snickered. "You sound like ma vhenan talking to our daughter."

Ellana screwed up her face, torn between smirking and frowning. It was true that Lyris often sounded like a mother trying to teach young, ignorant children when it came to the runes and spells of their ancient ancestors. It was slightly insulting, but Lyris had always been patient about it and seemed genuinely pleased when the Dalish and former non-mages in particular, did something right. It was something she shared in common with Solas.

Lyris shot Mahanon a sheepish look and then turned her attention back to Ellana. "Ir abelas if I—"

"Don't worry about it," Ellana said, waving away the arcane warrior's concern. She turned to the stairs circling up the side of the watchtower and began to ascend them.

Behind her she heard Mahanon speak to Lerand and Samhel: "So, have you both mastered barriers and mindblasts yet?" She'd asked her retinue to stay behind while she visited with Solas and although she'd noted her brother's concerned expression, he hadn't questioned her. Neither had Lyris, though Ellana sensed the arcane warrior's tenseness as she started up the stairs. Since the night of the Orlesian attack Solas had insisted both she and Sylvun remain under heavy guard. Ellana didn't balk under that order—because it made sense. All of their enemies had known she was expecting and everyone knew how vulnerable an infant was and that it'd hobble its mother.

As Ellana reached the top of the watchtower she felt the Anchor flare to life and heard it crackle. She slowed her pace, hearing the discussion ahead of her halt as they registered her presence. Pushing through the pain—and knowing exactly what it meant—Ellana walked out into the brisk open air at the top of the watchtower and saw Abelas, Zevanni, and Solas together, huddled in a half-circle with their backs to the wind.

"Vhenan," Solas greeted her at once, his blue eyes skipping over her form, doubtless in search of the sling she often wore if she was carrying Sylvun out with her. "What of Sylvun?" he asked her a heartbeat later, brow furrowing.

"I left him with mamae," she said, then, seeing his expression warp with worry, she added, "And Rinaya. And Shila. And Deshanna. And Var. And Taehon. And Negan. And—"

Zevanni snorted, interrupting her with a laugh. "You can relax, hahren. Lavellan is just as paranoid about the elfling's safety as you are." She looked to Ellana with a smirk. "What is that? Half of your clan to guard him?"

Tucking her left hand behind her to hide the glowing Anchor, which still stung her with sharp, shooting pains, Ellana grinned back at Zevanni. "Not just to guard him, but to feed him. He's a ravenous little wolf."

"Ah," Zevanni rejoined with an answering grin of her own. "And what do the men feed da'fen? Halla milk?"

Shrugging good-naturedly, Ellana said, "We have to start them young."

Abelas grimaced with distaste and Zevanni glowered at him when she noticed. "What? Allergic to halla milk?"

Solas glowered at her a moment and then, eyes flicking to Ellana, said, "Tell Ellana what your scouts have found and then leave us."

Staring at Zevanni, Ellana didn't miss the swift frown of disapproval that crossed the Elvhen woman's face as she shot Solas an unreadable look. But the pause was only a few heartbeats in length and then Zevanni squared her shoulders and met Ellana's expectant gaze like a dutiful soldier reporting to a superior officer. "We've been using wisps to communicate and scout beyond the ice wall. So far we've learned the Orlesians show no sign of mustering for another attack. But, more importantly, we've seen through the wisps that the Orlesian bastards aren't the only shemlen in the area."

Ellana arched an eyebrow. Glancing to Solas and Abelas to judge their reactions, she saw nothing ominous and felt a flutter of something hopeful in her chest. "And…?" she prompted Zevanni.

Zevanni flashed a lopsided smile. "It's Inquisition, but not an army and not exactly a scouting party."

Solas picked up where she'd left off, clearing his throat to add, "I have seen the impressions of the Inquisition forces from the wisps and I believe it to be a diplomatic force." He tilted his head forward. "Perhaps with a scouting unit as well."

Quashing the bubble of excitement still swelling in her chest, Ellana kept her expression neutral. "Do you think Josephine has come to negotiate a ceasefire between us and the Orlesians? I'd really rather not have to deal with an Exalted March."

"Nor would I," Solas agreed with a smile. He turned slightly and indicated the wall with a jerk of his chin. "But whatever and whoever comes, we will hold." Looking back at Ellana he narrowed his eyes, sobering. " _I_ will hold the city and the palace in whatever manner you deem best."

Again Ellana caught the brief flash of disapproval from Zevanni and felt herself stiffen as she realized now what the previous silent exchange had been about. Solas was committing to following her lead the way he had with Mythal—to become her general and let his power be leashed to her will. Zevanni clearly objected to that idea, but Abelas on Solas' other side wore the ghost of a smile over his lips. The former sentinel seemed more at ease than Ellana remembered having seen him in…well, perhaps ever. The animosity between Solas and Abelas wasn't as palpable as she recalled it being previously, though Solas stood closer to Zevanni than he did the former sentinel.

"Ma serannas," Ellana said with a significant nod of her head to show respect. Then she followed it with a warm smile. "Hahren." She felt the smile on her lips wavering as she remembered that already the better part of five-hundred Orlesians had died in this battle, and hundreds or possibly thousands had been killed in the initial takeover of the palace and Halamshiral. Solas would say the blame was his alone, but Ellana knew that it was only the power of the Anchor that'd given him the confidence to take action.

Her hand ached, crackling faintly as she considered it. The blood of those hundreds, perhaps thousands, was at least partially _her_ fault. She'd fled from Solas rather than be complicit in that crime…but abandoning him forever meant betraying the People. They'd never take more than the Emerald Graves without the Anchor and without Solas the People could never hope to hold the lands they'd claimed.

Did the ends really justify the means? The smile fell from her lips as she looked away, back toward the palace and thought of tiny, innocent Sylvun. If the end result was a world where her son and the People were free… _Yes.  
_

"Vhenan?" Solas asked her, and then used her name instead. "Ellana?"

Turning her head to regard him again, Ellana drew in a steadying breath and nodded. "I'd prefer we continue to show discretion with the Orlesians. We act in defense only. These lands were not taken in a noble struggle, but we must behave responsibly if we hope to garner any sympathy or respect for the People—both here and throughout the rest of Thedas."

"An excellent point," Abelas said, the trace of a smile growing unmistakable.

Solas nodded to her in acknowledgement. "Indeed." Motioning at Zevanni and Abelas then, he said, "Leave us. Continue working with the wisps to scout beyond the wall. Report anything of interest to me at once."

"Fen'Harel enansal," Zevanni said and then whipped around and lunged off the edge of the watchtower, her figure blurring as she Fade leapt downward. The action still made Ellana inhale sharply, her heart pounding at the suddenness of it. Abelas moved to follow her, but his pace was slower and more relaxed. With a whine-pop noise the former sentinel was soon gone as well, leaving Ellana alone with Solas with nothing but the wind and its continuous whistling.

Solas stepped closer to her, reaching out to cup her cheek with one hand. "You are troubled," he observed.

"I am," she admitted with a sigh. She let herself close her eyes and lean into his touch. His hand was warm and dry. The rough patches of callouses on his palm and fingers had become familiar to her over the years, though she wasn't sure when or how.

"Dirthera," he told her softly, close enough that his warm breath puffed against her forehead. He wore the wolf headdress as he almost always did now—although he took it off when visiting her and Sylvun. His armor managed to gleam despite the grayness of the day and the gloomy skies overhead. Even now Solas fueled the weather, the constant prickle of his magic and the Fade becoming one on her skin. She'd grown numb to it but whenever she became aware of it again the enormity of his power would make her dizzy. She, meanwhile, had to put her full concentration into something as tiny as disabling a rune spell.

She sighed again, opening her eyes to stare up at him. "I…I am afraid for the future. I'm afraid for the People beyond the Emerald Graves. What you did here when you took Halamshiral and the winter palace…" She took a step back from him, leaving his touch. "I write to the Divine and plead with her to grant us the Dales because the People deserve it, because we have earned it many times over. Yet the rest of Thedas will not remember that elves fought with Andraste to end the tyranny of Tevinter. And they will condemn me for aiding you and forget that I saved Thedas. They will only see what you have done here and they will make all of our people suffer for it."

Solas stared at her, his expression one of melancholy. Slowly, he closed his eyes. "I know, vhenan. I acted rashly. I cannot change it, only attempt to atone." Opening his eyes, he met her gaze with a grave look. "I know you will doubt my resolve to follow your will. You have every reason based on my past behavior to suspect me. I cannot promise we will not disagree, perhaps vehemently at times. Yet…"

He broke off shaking his head as he closed the distance between them and reached for her. Ellana let him, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily as Solas cupped her cheeks in his hands and gazed into her eyes, determination making the blue dark and bold. "Ar lath ma, vhenan. I know your wisdom and heart are what the People need, but they are what _I_ need as well. Whatever your counsel, whatever your will, I will enact it. The world you envision for the People and for our son is a far gentler place than the one I would have created. So it will be my honor and my pleasure to serve you as I once did Mythal."

She nodded, reaching up one palm to clasp his hand against her cheek. "Ma serannas, emma lath." Swallowing the lump in her throat as she pushed aside the thought of the past mistakes and of the lives she and the Anchor had inadvertently cut short, she found the strength to smile. The sincerity in his blue eyes stirred something warm and tentative inside her—hope.

Solas edged closer, his lips brushing tenderly against her own and Ellana returned the kiss, deepening it. His hand slid around to the back of her neck, warm and welcome against the chill in the air and Ellana pressed tighter to him. Her frame had been growing leaner every day it seemed, making it possible again to tuck her body to his as her heart picked up its beat inside her chest. Solas' other hand dropped to her waist and slid around her hips.

Just then Ellana felt the tickling, warm brush of magic swell over her and almost simultaneously she heard the whine-pop of someone Fade stepping or leaping. Solas broke the kiss, turning to look at the side of the tower facing the winter palace. Ellana, still breathing heavily from the kiss, blinked as she saw Mathrel perched on the low railing there.

"Fen'Harel," he said and then nodded to her as well. "Lady Lavellan." He half-hopped, half-stepped from the railing, landing sprightly and with the grace of a cat. "I've come from the rookery in the palace," he told them both and extended his hand to reveal a small scroll—of the kind carried by ravens.

Solas, who was closer just slightly, took the proffered message and quickly opened it, blue eyes scanning over it. Ellana watched his expression, trying to avoid giving into the temptation to chew her lip with nervousness. As Solas' lips tugged upward into a small, tentative smile, Ellana felt that same sensation of hope flutter in her chest. "What is it?"

Passing the scroll to her, Solas said, "It appears as though Divine Victoria has come through for us after all."

Ellana read over the scroll, her lips half-forming the words. The scroll was in Leliana's hand, familiar to Ellana after years of reading the spymaster's missives. It was short and succinct, but her eyes kept widening as she read with shock.

_Her Holiness Divine Victoria counsels Empress Celene of Orlais to capitulate and end hostilities with the Dales. The declaration signed recently by Her Majesty granting the elven people their former homeland of the Dales is found to be legal and binding by the Chantry. Inquisition forces have been dispatched to Halamshiral to initiate peace negotiations._

Beneath the note in Leliana's writing Ellana saw more in a newer, different script that was less familiar to her.

_Andraste, Bride of the Maker, promised the Dales to the elven people for their service to Thedas and to the Maker in defeating Tevinter. I, Divine Victoria, in light of overwhelming evidence, declare that Lady Lavellan, former Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, is beloved of the Maker. In recognition for her efforts in saving Thedas, it is the Maker's will that the elven people be granted the Dales._

Ellana's hands shook as she lowered the scroll and she found herself blinking back tears. Seeing Mathrel's curious look she handed the note off to him and did her best to chuckle as she flexed her left hand. "It appears the Anchor will never run out of uses."

Solas stared at her, a warm smile over his lips as he shook his head. "It was not the Anchor that saved Thedas from Corypheus," he reminded her. "And, doubtless, the Divine would not make such a proclamation without hearing you had returned to lead the People."

"What if the peace talks are just another shemlen trap?" Mathrel asked, growling as he rerolled the scroll.

"Then we will defend ourselves," Solas replied with a slight shake of his head.

"Cassandra wouldn't use her position to lie like this," Ellana said with a deep, shuddering breath. She was still lightheaded with shock and relief. "This is real."

"But there will be concessions, I suspect," Solas said, tucking his hands behind his back and squaring his shoulders. "However, luckily the Divine, the Inquisition, and the empress all know that you had no part in or desire for the rebellion in Halamshiral."

"Will that matter?" Mathrel asked with a frown.

"It may prove crucial," Solas hedged, a contemplative scowl spreading over his features. "They will likely demand I be punished in some way."

"We do not yield to shemlen demands," Mathrel said with a snarl.

Solas murmured, "If the punishment is merely that I remain in a position of obscurity within the Dales…"

"Or they could demand your imprisonment or death, just as the Divine did back before Orlais attacked," Mathrel reminded them.

Clenching her jaw at the underlying uncertainty of the situation, Ellana reached out and touched Solas' forearm, giving it a squeeze. "Regardless, the Divine has granted us the Dales. We will not make any concessions that harm you or anyone. If they renege on the Divine's word we will simply take the Dales, emma lath. They cannot stop us."

" _That_ is why they are capitulating," Mathrel grumbled with a shake of his head. "Not because they have suddenly decided to be generous and remember that the People have saved Thedas twice over now. Their precious Andraste would never have defeated Tevinter without Shartan's help." He motioned at Ellana. "And the darkspawn magister would have destroyed the Veil and inadvertently unleashed the Evanuris long ago without you."

"Don't forget Inquisitor Ameridan," Ellana murmured with a sad frown. She shot Solas a sidelong look to judge his reaction to Mathrel's comment about her saving Thedas from Corypheus. They all knew that Corypheus had only been a problem because of Solas. Technically, Ellana had saved Thedas twice over—once from Corypheus and then again from Solas' plans.

For his part Solas seemed neutral, opaque as he looked to her and motioned toward the winter palace. "I believe it'd be best if you sent a reply, vhenan. Both the Divine and Leliana will recognize your script and I doubt they'd enjoy hearing from me." He flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I rather hope they do insist on my becoming a recluse, forbidden to leave the Dales. I should like to retire from the world stage as it were."

Ellana smirked, arching an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Solas smiled back at her, the expression genuine. "Indeed. I would devote my time to serving the People by shaping the Fade in peaceful ways, and to teaching the next generation." He paused, eyes crinkling with humor. "Particularly our son. Of course, should the People need me I would serve, regardless of whatever agreements are in place."

Mathrel, who'd been making a face to silently express his disapproval, now blinked as new understanding dawned. Ellana chuckled. "Then perhaps we can suggest this so-called punishment of yours as capitulation at the negotiations."

Solas nodded at her, the coy smile spreading wider over his lips. "Perhaps we shall."

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"Indeed," Cassandra agreed solemnly. Turning her head to glare at Briala and Celene, she said, "I grow tired of listening to this distraction. We did not come here to speak of the Anchor or question Lady Lavellan's divinity. Whether _she_ sees the Maker's hand in the events of three years ago does not matter. _I_ see His hand and that is why I have made this decision regarding the Dales."

"The divine hand you see in all this, Your Holiness, isn't the Maker's." Briala shot a glare past Ellana, toward Solas. Her look carried a dark, unmistakable triumph in it. "It is the Dread Wolf's. The elven orb Corypheus used to destroy the conclave and that marked Lavellan came from Fen'Harel."


	49. The Marquise's Motivations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations begin and immediately hit a snarl. Mythal's quiet machinations come on full display.

The negotiations were set to begin only a few days later in the plains outside Halamshiral and beyond the enormous ice walls Solas had cast to protect their holdings. When the appointed day arrived Ellana and Solas used an eluvian in Halamshiral to exit the city, emerging through a mirror hidden in a ruin to the south and then planned on marching north to the plains. Half of Lavellan clan came with them, mounted on halla and harts brought in through eluvians from the Emerald Graves.

Again Ellana found herself on a massive red hart with Solas sitting behind her, just as they had been during their journey to the winter palace for the previous false negotiations. But this time, however, she carried her baby in a sling over her front rather than in her belly. In the open air of the Dales, with the wind stirring her hair and caressing her skin, Ellana could forget the tension in her chest, worrying that this might prove to be just another trap.

When they passed through the mirror the loss of the Fade and the return of the Veil over them seemed to weigh everyone down. Ellana felt the Veil over her as a strangling, invisible hand that quashed the magic core within her. What had been warm and energetic became cold and empty—a void. Solas shuddered and let out a gasp, his hands tightening into fists over the hart's reins. Even tiny Sylvun seemed to feel it as he woke in his sling and began crying.

"Shh, ma ishalen," she tried to soothe him, digging under her light shawl to access the sling.

Solas prodded the hart further up the grassy slope to join the other mounted warriors who'd gone before them—including Lyris and Mathrel and Abelas. Mahanon followed behind through the eluvian, making it thrum. Ellana spared him a quick smile when she saw her brother looking to her with concern, doubtless hearing Sylvun's ongoing cries.

Turning her attention back to the baby, Ellana found Sylvun squirming and kicking, his eyes squeezed shut and his little face completely red as his crying intensified. She tried to rock him with one arm while with the other hand she dug into her surcoat to open it in order to comfort him with milk. But Sylvun wasn't hungry—possibly for the first time in his life, she thought wryly—and kept letting go of her nipple to turn his head and cry again.

"I don't know what's wrong," she said, a little note of panic in her voice.

"I may have an idea," Solas said and reached around her to lay his palm over the sling. A moment later Ellana saw and felt the warm tingle of the magic he channeled. Sylvun's crying diminished almost immediately, becoming whimpering at first and then petering out into silence. Gradually Solas let the magic subside and then dropped his hand away to retake the reins. Sylvun whimpered at the loss of his father's touch once but then settled, his tiny breaths puffing against Ellana's skin beneath the shawl.

"Well," Ellana murmured quietly as she idly stroked the soft auburn hair atop Sylvun's head. "It's exactly as I suspected. He's a perfect little replica of his babae—except for the hair."

Solas chuckled, leaning forward to nuzzle her ear slightly. "Because he enjoys magic?"

"Because he already misses the Fade without even knowing what it is," she said, letting herself sag backward against Solas. "And because he's your spitting image."

"I'm sure he has more of his mamae in him than meets the eye," Solas countered. "But in respect to his magic, I suspect he will be powerful, regardless of whether he is in or out of the Dales and the Fade." He sighed then, twisting around to observe the eluvian and the rest of their retinue of bodyguards and advisors and clucked his tongue, encouraging the hart to move forward again. "I do not like taking him with us."

"I know," Ellana agreed, still stroking a finger over his downy hair. She clutched him tighter as the hart began to trot, jostling them. "But after what you told me Abelas said about Mythal I can't help but think the safest place for him is with us." Abelas had been providing Solas feedback on what he knew of Mythal's end goals and, based on what they knew of her thwarted attempt to put a compulsion on Ellana, it seemed likely she'd try again. They both knew their weakest spot was Sylvun and according to Solas, Mythal had a longstanding history of using children as hostages against political enemies or rivals.

"I agree, vhenan," Solas said. "Though I cannot help but wish we had another option." The only other choice they'd had was to split up, leaving Solas behind in the winter palace to watch over Sylvun while Ellana faced off with the politicians in the plains to hopefully solidify peace. But if the negotiations proved to be as deadly as the previous ones, Ellana might well wind up dead without Solas. His talents, even with the Veil in place, were enough to give everyone additional peace of mind.

As the hart crested the hill, following Mathrel and Lyris' mounts, Ellana saw Zevanni and Var ahead of them out in the rolling hills of the plains. Those two and a few scouts had come through first to ensure the way was clear. A green light glimmered in the sky—a veilfire orb to act as a beacon and alert them the way was safe ahead.

In the distance to Ellana's far left and ahead was the blue-white ice wall surrounding Halamshiral and the winter palace. The day was warm and clear, the sun shining brightly so that the ice gleamed. It was melting now that Solas' had stopped the blizzard and the chill in the air, but the walls were so massive that it'd take weeks likely for them to melt without the aid of mages.

"Let us be off then," Solas said and prodded the hart into a gallop. Mathrel and Lyris both took point and from behind her Ellana heard the thunder of hooves and the high-pitched cries of the halla coming up the rear.

Clutching Sylvun closer protectively, Ellana gazed ahead and hoped this wouldn't be a trap.

* * *

The meeting took place in a burned out, abandoned farmhouse in the open plains beyond the city, with nothing but shrubs and bushes dotting the hills between the cultivated rows of what would've been crop fields. That should have ensured no hidden armies could lie in ambush, but Solas didn't doubt that the surroundings left plenty of opportunity for assassins to lie in wait.

Their forces camped south of the farmhouse, amidst the rows of barren, crushed plants from the previous year's crops. From their vantage point atop the small curved hill, Solas could see the camp of Inquisition and Chantry forces intermixed to the northeast. To the northwest was a larger force of chevaliers. The Orlesian army encamped on the opposite side of Halamshiral and the palace had retreated days previous, but Solas suspected they could easily double back and catch them. He sent scouts from Ellana's clan to conduct reconnaissance to the north—around the human forces—and to the south as well to ensure their path for retreat wasn't cut off. With the scouts Solas sent wisps as well, to ensure that should the worst happen and the elves were killed word would still reach them.

Shortly after the sun rose to its zenith, marking midday, Solas rode with Ellana and a small retinue of bodyguards. For the sake of political expediency, Solas had agreed to ride separately from her, borrowing Var's hart and taking up a flanking position. Ellana had dressed in her Dalish scout armor, which would be familiar to the Divine and anyone who'd seen her wear it as Inquisitor. Solas, meanwhile, had considered appearing sans the wolf headdress to be more demure and nondescript, but he'd dismissed the idea when Ellana rejected it.

They had to strike a delicate balance in these negotiations, assuming they were real anyway. The Divine may have granted them the Dales, but Orlais wouldn't give them up simply because the Chantry declared it. The wolf headdress would remind the empress unsubtly of the power she faced and had yet to defeat in even the slightest way. Ellana suspected—as did Solas—that Orlais would demand a concession for his actions at Halamshiral.

_Let them make demands,_ he thought to himself with a dry smile. _They cannot stop us._

At the farmhouse they slowed their mounts to a trot, approaching with caution. Solas could see the Inquisition and Chantry forces arrive first, their banners flying in the breeze. Templars flanked Cassandra, who wore the Divine's full armor regalia in resplendent gold. Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen had also accompanied her with a handful of heavily armored Inquisition soldiers as guards.

Cassandra's oval, egg-shaped helmet glimmered in the high sun as she watched their approach, dipping her head in a respectful nod as Ellana drew closer. "Lady Lavellan," she called out in greeting. "You look well."

"As do you, Cassandra," Ellana replied and Solas could hear the smile in her voice.

Even from several meters away, Solas could see the way Cassandra's eyes dropped over Ellana's body, inspecting her. After a second she arched her brow. "The last time we spoke, you were in a great deal of pain from the Anchor. I trust it has come under control since then?"

Solas stiffened, clenching his jaw. Was she fishing for information? Weaknesses? Or was it truly just curiosity? The humans knew the Anchor was vital to their success. Solas couldn't stop himself from envisioning the lot of their forces rushing to Ellana to subdue her and quickly cut off her hand. His core bristled and bubbled with anxiety and he kept his hands clenched on the reins to keep himself from tossing up a barrier over her preemptively.

"It's been stabilized," Ellana said, though she didn't explain any further and didn't raise her hand to display it.

Cassandra nodded. "Good. I am glad to hear it."

Leliana spoke then, her voice surprisingly bright and cheery. "And your little one?"

"A boy," she said with a tight edge to her words. Ellana's hart shifted, stamping its foot, a sure sign it picked up on its rider's tension.

Leliana clicked her tongue, smiling. "Wonderful news. I'm sure our scribe will be most pleased."

"Scribe?" Ellana parroted. As if on cue the drumming sound of hoof beats reached them, echoing as the Orlesian group charged down the hillside from the northwest to join them.

Leliana's smile turned enigmatic. "You'll see."

Solas huffed, quiet enough that no one would hear it. He could already see that one of the riders with the Orlesians wasn't human or elven—he was a dwarf. Ellana had caught on too as she laughed with real emotion now. "Varric's here?" She shook her head. "I thought he'd have returned to Kirkwall by now."

"Apparently not," Cassandra replied with a snort as she turned her head to watch the Orlesian group draw nearer.

Soon Solas could see the chevaliers, their helmets complete with feather tassels, and Briala and Celene in full armor as well. Briala wore something light and flexible with supple leather, daggers at her waist and a bow on her back—as if she expected a fight or planned to serve as one of Celene's bodyguards. Both she and Celene wore masks, but Briala's left her eyes and mouth visible, allowing Solas to see her glowering at him and Ellana. Her hostility was like needles on his skin, making him bristle. She hadn't been this way during her time as a prisoner at Halamshiral, or if she had, she'd done a remarkably good job at hiding it.

"I am pleased to see everyone has come," Cassandra said in greeting, nodding her respect to the empress and the marquise. "I suggest we dismount and begin inside." Twisting on her horse, Cassandra shot a quick look to Leliana nearby. "Only those needed for the negotiation are to enter. All others are to remain outside." She swept her gaze over Ellana and Solas before quickly staring at Celene and staying there. "There should be no need for weapons or bodyguards at a delegation devoted to _peace."_

Celene jerked her chin, her voice ripe with disdain. "With all due respect, Your Holiness, we find your stipulations to be inequitable at the onset." She stabbed a finger in Solas' direction. "There is no way to disarm _him."_

Cassandra made a face, her lips pinching into a thin, hard line. "She is right," she observed, looking toward Ellana and then Solas.

It was easy to see where this would go—Cassandra would ask him to remain outside as a concession to Celene as he _was_ the only mage present—but Solas refused to let it play out that way. It'd be far too easy for a rogue like Briala to sneak in a hidden dagger, or for Celene to use some enchanted bauble like a ring or a necklace. They could strike Ellana down while she was alone and vulnerable without his protection.

"Perhaps you could remain out here," Cassandra suggested with a frown.

Ellana twisted at the waist to glance over her shoulder at him. Her expression was one of concern and unease. Her hart stamped its foot and snorted, shifting its weight impatiently from side to side.

"Perhaps," Solas conceded with a small, cold smile. "But I refuse. However, in light of Her Majesty's most astute observation that I cannot be disarmed, may I propose a compromise?"

Celene's mask hid whatever reaction she might have had, but Briala's lips twitched downward in a frown. Cassandra arched a brow and said, "Go on."

"As we cannot all be disarmed, might I suggest we conduct them without disarming? We can all be comfortable in our safety in that case."

Cassandra began, "If that is agreeable to—"

"It is not," Celene insisted. "Such an arrangement is hardly equitable." Her head pivoted slightly to focus on Cassandra, though her helmet with its elaborate mask made it almost impossible to see whether she actually looked at the Divine or not. "We should not need to remind you, Most Holy, that this…Dread Wolf, is no ordinary mage. No weapon we carry to combat him would be sufficient protection should he betray and attack us."

"This entire argument is a moot point," Ellana shouted, apparently losing her patience. "Because there is no way to disarm _either_ of us." She raised her left hand, flexing it open and closed quickly to remind them of the Anchor, though it was currently dormant. "And unless you expect to conduct these negotiations without _me_ here, Your Majesty, I'd suggest you agree to Fen'Harel's compromise."

"Well said," Cassandra murmured before looking again to Celene. "Are we agreed, then?"

Celene was silent for a long moment and then, slowly, she nodded once. "We agree."

"Then let us begin," Cassandra said.

* * *

Ellana kept her chin up and her shoulders squared as the group settled around the folding table the Chantry forces had brought with them. Varric had supplied a stool and come equipped with parchment, ink, and quills ready for the occasion. He sat to Cassandra's left in the center of the table, quickly putting his writing tools in order. Ellana expected him to clap his hands and say something snarky or clever when he'd finished to signify an official start to the proceedings, but instead he merely flashed a quick, tight smile and looked to the Divine.

"By the authority granted to me by the Maker, and on behalf of Andraste and the Chantry, I hereby decree the Dales be returned to the elven people." Cassandra's brown eyes slid to Celene, who stood to her right at the end of the table, opposite Ellana's position. "In accordance with this, I charge you, Your Majesty, with the solemn task of withdrawing any Orlesian influence from the region."

"We do not recognize that you have the authority to dictate our affairs for us," Celene said in a stuffy voice. "The Dales have been part of Orlais for eight hundred years, since the Glory Age—when it was taken in the Chantry's Exalted March. We find your contention to ignore the events of the past by your predecessors to be—"

"I am _not_ ignoring the events of the past," Cassandra interrupted her snappishly and with a glare that could kill—the kind she normally reserved for Varric when she suspected him of duplicity. "I am _righting_ them in light of current events. I have seen with my own eyes how history is rewritten and changed to reflect what is popular, _not_ what is right. I refuse to add to that."

"In light of current events?" Celene asked, a snarl in her voice. "Such as the sacking of Halamshiral and my winter palace by that cretin over there?" She stabbed a finger across the table to where Solas lingered just behind Ellana. "You wish to reward these heathen savages who have never believed in the light of the Maker? Blasphemy!"

Ellana's hands clenched into fists at her side and she sensed Solas tensing behind her, likely biting back some sharp retort. They'd agreed before leaving the palace that it'd be best if Solas spoke as little as possible because it'd undermine Ellana's authority. Everyone present understood Ellana had been absent for the rebellion at Halamshiral, having opposed it so vehemently that she'd refused to take part in it. They hoped her return to Solas' side would bolster the legitimacy of their claim once more, but they had to convince both Cassandra and Celene that Ellana was the true power in the Dales and Solas had been leashed.

But that didn't mean they had to demurely accept Celene's insults.

"Perhaps you've forgotten," Ellana snapped, glaring at Celene. "But you owe this _heathen savage_ your crown."

"Incorrect," Celene retorted at once. "I owe the _Inquisition_ my crown." She nodded toward Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine who'd taken up positions near the door a short ways from the table. "Unless I am mistaken, _Lavellan,_ you are no longer part of the Inquisition."

"Yet it _was_ Lady Lavellan who saved all of Thedas," Cassandra interjected in a sharp tone. Motioning toward Ellana, she added, "And she has been touched by Andraste, blessed by the Maker with the Anchor in our time of need. You cannot deny that." Though Cassandra knew the Anchor was bestowed as part of the orb Corypheus had carried, she'd always chosen to view it as a gift from the Maker. She saw providence rather than luck or chance.

"But she is no follower of the Chantry, no believer in the Maker," Briala said, speaking for the first time. "How unusual that the Maker would bestow such a strange, magical gift to a Dalish elf—but where did the Anchor come from?" She cocked her head to one side, as if truly perplexed and intrigued, but the cold gleam in her round, dark eyes seemed to freeze Ellana's blood in her veins. Celene and Briala should have known little of where the Anchor originated as the details of Adamant had been kept quiet.

Josephine started to speak, "I do not see how—"

"It is relevant, Ambassador," Briala said with a cold smile curling her lips. "I assure you." Nodding toward Cassandra, she explained, "Her Holiness contends that Lady Lavellan was blessed by the Maker and should be granted the Dales now as a reward. I understand the underlying desire is for peace, but the Chantry has no place in making such declarations when Lavellan was never chosen." She paused a moment, her tone dropping into something almost gleeful with spite. "Not by the Maker or Andraste, anyway."

"I have never claimed to be the Herald," Ellana shot back, frowning as she tried to keep herself from shaking with tension. Her heart hammered on her ribcage. She knew where this was going. The Anchor burned in its seam along her palm and she clenched her hand and tucked it behind her back, as if she could make the others forget about it. "And I am no Andrastian, but I _did_ save Thedas. Whether I had divine aid or not, it does not change what I did as Inquisitor." Ellana bit her lip as she thought, _And what I did again for Thedas when I swayed Fen'Harel away from destroying the Veil._ How many times was she going to have to save Thedas, anyway?

"Indeed," Cassandra agreed solemnly. Turning her head to glare at Briala and Celene, she said, "I grow tired of listening to this distraction. We did not come here to speak of the Anchor or question Lady Lavellan's divinity. Whether _she_ sees the Maker's hand in the events of three years ago does not matter. _I_ see His hand and that is why I have made this decision regarding the Dales."

"The divine hand you see in all this, Your Holiness, isn't the Maker's." Briala shot a glare past Ellana, toward Solas. Her look carried a dark, unmistakable triumph in it. "It is the Dread Wolf's. The elven orb Corypheus used to destroy the conclave and that marked Lavellan came from Fen'Harel."

The heavy silence that followed seemed to crush Ellana as all eyes flew to them both with varying levels of shock, pain at the betrayal, and rage. For a long moment no one made a sound. Even breathing had seemingly come to a stop. Ellana saw Leliana's grim expression and recalled that Scout Harding had warned her the spymaster had already suspected this about Solas. Yet, apparently, judging by the shock and rage mottling Cassandra's face, it seemed the spymaster had been somewhat mum about her suspicion. Why? Had she been unsure of it? Dismissed it? If Leliana hadn't been confident enough in it enough to share the thought, why was Briala? How had _she_ learned of it?

Varric was the first to break the silence, groaning as he cursed under his breath. "Shit, Chuckles…"

"Is this true?" Cassandra demanded, her hands clenching at her sides as she looked between Ellana and Solas, searching them both.

If Ellana had been a devoted player of the Game, determined to serve the People no matter what, she knew this would be the moment she should feign outrage and turn on Solas. She could disavow any knowledge of his involvement in the conclave, rather than admit she'd chosen to forgive his part in it because she understood what'd driven him to do it and she knew he'd not seen their world as _real._ The Solas standing at her back was not that same man…

Or so she hoped.

Turning to meet his eye, Ellana saw his gaze flick to hers. His eyes glinted faintly in the deep shadow of his wolf headdress, but she could see the tension in his shoulders and feel the invisible weight of his magic, ready to explode.

Instead of answering Cassandra, Solas spoke in a low, dangerous voice directed at Briala. "Tell me, da'len, what did Mythal promise you?"

_Mythal,_ Ellana thought and restrained her gasp, just barely, as she made the connection. _Of course…_

Briala flinched, her mouth falling open for an instant before snapping shut. "I don't know what you mean, but I find it interesting that you have neglected to answer the Divine's question, Fen'Harel."

"As do I," Cassandra snarled, visibly shaking with her fury.

"We contend that Lavellan was never chosen by the Maker or even by chance," Celene said, haughty and with an air of confident superiority. "But was, in fact, in league with this monster all along with the final goal of tricking Most Holy and myself into handing over the Dales."

"That's _ridiculous,"_ Ellana shouted, gawking at the empress even as she felt her face flare with the heat of rage. How could they think _anyone_ could plot that far ahead?

"Fen'Harel _is_ the Lord of Tricksters," Briala put in with a smug smile.

The Inquisition humans seemed perturbed by this latest suggestion, their eyes landing on Ellana with doubt. Cassandra and Varric looked to her too, the question in their faces unspoken as they had to ask themselves whether everything they'd shared with her as Inquisitor had been a lie.

"You cannot actually believe this nonsense," Ellana pleaded, staring at them. "Solas and I had never met before the conclave."

"And what proof do you have of that?" Celene demanded with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"None, of course," Ellana growled. "Just the word of myself and my clan. But it's preposterous to think _anyone_ could have believed _I_ would become the leader of a _human_ organization. A _Chantry_ affiliated organization. It was far more likely I'd wind up executed as a scapegoat."

"I believe you, Lavender," Varric said with a grunting laugh. "I met you at the same time as Chuckles and I know people. You two hadn't ever met before." He shook his head and tapped Cassandra's bicep with the back of his meaty hand. "You remember—they didn't even like each other at first. Elves never get along."

Cassandra's expression softened. "Yes, I remember. You were my prisoner, but you agreed to help in any way you could." She pivoted slightly, pinning Solas with a narrow-eyed glare that was as much scrutiny as lingering rage. "And you…the Breach frightened you. That was real…" Shaking her head, she suddenly turned and snarled at Celene and Briala. "What was this about _Mythal?_ "

Briala frowned. "You do not believe me? You do not _care_ that _he_ is the one who is truly responsible for killing Divine Justinia and thousands of others at the conclave?"

"I _do_ care," Cassandra growled. "But I also know that whatever the truth, Solas was genuine in his desire to help and Lavellan would have died without his intervention. I cannot believe he desired the outcome, even if he was responsible for the conclave." Frowning as she looked at Ellana, she added, "And it is clear to me Ellana places the true fault of Justinia's death on Corypheus and has forgiven Solas his involvement, whatever it may have been."

Hearing that Cassandra was willing to follow Ellana's lead left her dizzy with relief. She stared at Cassandra, dumbfounded and with her thoughts scattered. "Ma serannas," she murmured, blinking as she realized she'd accidentally thanked the former Seeker in elven.

"Enough," Celene snarled with a sideways slash of her hand. "We grow tired of this. If you will not see the truth for what it is, then at least you must consider that in light of this new information, the threat of Fen'Harel must be ended."

"There need be no _threat_ ," Cassandra said with an exasperated huff. She cut a quick glare over toward Solas and then Ellana. "Am I correct in understanding that you will be content with the Dales? The elven uprisings throughout Thedas will end should we arrive at an agreement here?"

"We merely seek a homeland of our own," Ellana confirmed with a somber nod. "As my people always have and as Andraste herself promised us. We have faced endless persecution and subjugation under human rule." Ellana glared at the empress now, biting out her next words. "Even in nations with rulers who make grandiose claims of elevating the People only to slaughter them at the first sign of unrest."

Beside the empress, Briala's lips twisted in a brief scowl. She hadn't forgotten Celene's butchery in Halamshiral before the Orlesian Civil War. Well, that was good, because Ellana and the People hadn't forgotten it either.

Celene squared her shoulders, clasping her shining, gauntleted hands in front of her. "We make no apologies for putting down the rebellion in Halamshiral."

"Just as you make no apologies for repeatedly trying to have Lady Lavellan and myself killed during your mock peace negotiations?" Solas quipped dryly from behind Ellana.

With a sharp breath inward and a small jerk of her head, Celene ignored his comment and instead changed the subject. "In the interest of peace, we are prepared to relinquish the Dales to the elven people to meet Most Holy's decree, but only on condition that certain concessions are made."

"Such as?" Ellana asked, crossing her arms over her chest only to wince and quickly drop her arms back to her sides. Compressing her breasts was a _bad_ idea considering she was now a nursing mother.

"The Marquise must be in a prominent position of power in this new elven homeland," Celene pronounced, tilting her head backward. Her full face mask glittered in the midday light peaking in through the holes in the roof of the farmhouse.

This move made perfect sense. Briala would be Celene's puppet, giving her leverage inside the newly independent and elven-ruled nation. The only question would be whether Briala actually intended to act in Celene's and Orlais' interests, or if she would immediately betray the empress. Knowing Briala, either option was possible.

Ellana nodded without hesitation, glancing quickly toward Briala to see her wearing a tight, unreadable expression. "Of course. All of the People are welcome." _Even the ones who betray us,_ she thought sourly.

Now Celene leaned forward slightly, the minor body language adjustment and the drop in her voice suggesting she relished this next stipulation. "And, of course, Fen'Harel must be appropriately punished for his crimes." She turned toward Cassandra. "What do you envision as a suitable punishment for the elf who stylizes himself a god and is responsible for the death of Divine Justinia and thousands of mages and Templars at the conclave? Execution? Should he be burned alive, hung by the neck, or—"

"That is out of the question," Ellana shouted, cutting her off.

"Perhaps another agreement can be reached then," Briala put in, so perfect it seemed rehearsed. "If Fen'Harel will not accept punishment, he must be controlled and reprimanded in some other way." She glared past Ellana toward Solas, needling him with her eyes. "Perhaps if the Chantry held a hostage? I've heard you welcomed a healthy son recently. He could be held by the Chantry in a Circle—"

"Fenedhis," Solas snarled, spitting the curse. "No. _Never."_

At almost the same time Ellana was interrupting Briala as well. "No, absolutely not. How _dare_ you even suggest such a thing?"

"Easily," Celene retorted with a casual wave of her hand as if pushing Ellana's question and her outrage away like a pesky fly. "It has been a common practice among the nobility for ages. Perhaps it is something you flea-bitten Dalish vagabonds find foreign, but we assure you, the hostage is well treated and held in high-esteem. He'd be educated by the finest Enchanters and—"

"I said no," Ellana shouted, finding herself breathing as fast as if she'd just run a mile at a full-on sprint. "Never. You _cannot_ have my son. I'd sooner die myself." The Anchor crackled, the burning pain crawling up her arm. Ellana barely noticed it but the others all looked to her with widened eyes and Briala and Celene both took a small step backward from the table, their hands going to their weapons.

"Atisha, vhenan," Solas murmured behind her and a moment later she felt his warm hand on her shoulder and heard the slight scuff of his feet over the floor as he stepped to the table and out of the background. The wolf headdress made him a brooding, dark figure, worthy of his Evanuris title. His shadowed eyes glinted out at the others across the table, particularly Celene and Briala.

"I am very familiar with the practice of hostage taking," he began in a low voice, grave with the weight of memory and the promise of violence. "As is your advisor, Lady Marquise. What is her name? Morrigan, perhaps? Or is it Mythal?"

Celene's head pivoted toward Briala, her mask glittering in the few streams of sunlight filtering in through the holes in the burnt-out farmhouse roof. The motion and her body language suggested surprise or puzzlement. Doubtless she recognized Morrigan's name, but likely knew nothing of the witch's association with the elven goddess.

Briala shook her head once. Like Celene she wore a mask, but hers was only a half-mask and showed her nose and eyes clearly, making her much easier to read. "I don't know what you mean," she countered. "But if you will not agree to Her Perfection's conditions then I'm afraid we have no further reason to waste our time here."

Cassandra huffed impatiently. "There must be _some_ compromise we can reach."

"We are prepared to have Fen'Harel disavow any position of power in the Dales," Ellana suggested, shooting Solas a sidelong look. "To remain exiled within the Dales in civic service of the People." She had no intention to actually force Solas to remain imprisoned within the Dales or, should they come under attack, denying him the right to fight as their greatest weapon. But Solas had expressed a willingness to retire already, especially if it eased international tensions.

"Civic service?" Briala asked, arching an eyebrow.

"To atone," Solas said, offering no further explanation. Briala couldn't know, because she hadn't seen the restored Fade, that Solas' talents could be used to design and erect structures in moments. He had endless uses, ways he could serve the People on and off the battlefield. Celene and Briala might imagine the Dales as a savage nation, wild and war-torn for decades or even centuries to come, but Ellana knew that with the Fade restored they would rival Orlais in just a few short years...but only with the help of Solas' talents.

"That hardly seems a suitable punishment for such a monster," Celene intoned, jutting out her chin.

"It is the only concession we can allow," Ellana said, frowning with irritation and still trying to calm the anxious tightness in her chest, the pain that gripped her heart with deep instinctual fear when she thought about Celene demanding her child as a hostage.

"I believe we have had enough of this for one day," Cassandra pronounced, searching over everyone assembled. Leliana and Josephine behind her nodded slightly while Cullen's expression seemed to droop with relief.

"I'll second that, Most Holy," Varric said, grinning tightly up at Cassandra as he dropped his quill. He'd recorded Cassandra's decree regarding the Dales and nothing else, yet his eyes looked exhausted with the lines around his mouth seeming a touch haggard.

"Is there any reason we should continue this?" Ellana asked, glaring toward Celene and Briala. "Because if you will not work with us again…" She cut herself off before she could voice the threat, but her head was pounding with the rush of blood through her ears. _They will never yield,_ she thought with a dark sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt Solas at her side, as solid and cold as ice. _We will have to take what we want. What we deserve._

"It is _you_ who have refused to work with us," Celene reminded her, stiff and cool.

"Enough," Cassandra said in an unhappy tone, "Now, if everyone is agreed, we will return tomorrow when everyone has had time to consider today's events."

* * *

"You must not let this rile you," Abelas said in his deep, solemn voice. "I suspect Mythal's goals remain unchanged. She seeks to restrain you as she apparently doubts Lady Lavellan's ability to do so."

Solas glared toward the northwest where the Orlesian retinue was camped. A small trail of smoke rose from their fires into the still air of the spring evening. He could smell the scent of roasting meat from within his own encampment but his stomach was too tight with tension to feel any hunger, though he hadn't eaten anything since morning.

"They are fools for listening to her counsel," Mathrel snarled with a derisive snort. "Have they blinded themselves to our effortless defense of Halamshiral? How can they think they have any chance to resist us?"

"They probably don't understand how it was done," Mahanon said with a shake of his head. "They know only that if they remove hahren from us we will lose our advantage."

How easy would it be for rogues to sneak into camp come dusk and night? Solas' fingers wriggled, then curled into fists as he decided he'd need to ward their campsite or else he'd never be able to sleep tonight. Watching the distant figures moving about the Orlesian camp, Solas made out archers patrolling the edge, their postures deceptively casual. They could easily creep closer come nightfall and pelt the elves with a rain of arrows, bypassing Solas' wards.

_Fenedhis._ It'd be so much easier if he could restore the Fade in this area and use an Aegis ward to protect them from projectiles.

"That is _exactly_ why we should strike now, tonight," Zevanni put in, hissing the suggestion in a near-whisper. "All of our enemy leaders are here, nestled together like chicks in a nest. _Vulnerable._ " She let out a harsh laugh, motioning across the field toward both hills in the north. "These are not Evanuris warriors. They're not even elven. These are _shemlen._ "

Solas' brow furrowed as he watched an Orlesian archer far off in the distance flexing his bow, testing out the string and drawing it in practice. _So much easier with the Fade…_

When Zevanni reached out and gripped his bicep, squeezing him and then giving him a little shake, Solas blinked and looked to her. Her brown eyes were dark with determination. "Show these _shemlen_ fools what it is to be an enemy of Fen'Harel—of the People."

It would be easy to do as Zevanni advised. There were only a few dozen Orlesians and Solas could wipe them out almost singlehandedly, even with the Veil restraining him. But Zevanni included the Inquisition and Chantry forces in her plans for annihilation, and rightly so. If Solas were to slaughter the Orlesians the Inquisition and the Divine would doubtless turn against him—and Ellana and the People as well. Unless, of course, Ellana could convince Cassandra and the others she'd known nothing about his plans _and_ if Solas let himself be punished afterward. Killing the Orlesians meant losing any hope _he_ had of keeping _some_ human allies.

_Ellana would not approve._

Tugging his arm out of Zevanni's grasp, Solas frowned. "That is not an option."

Zevanni huffed with disappointment but said nothing more. She took a step backward, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring down at the grass underfoot as Solas glanced toward Abelas, who stood just behind him and to the left. "What do you believe Mythal has offered the Marquise?"

"Apologies," Abelas murmured with a dip of his head. "I do not know."

"Perhaps offering the knowledge was enough of a reward in itself," Mahanon said with a contemplative frown. "Halamshiral was her city and we took it. Many of the city elves are still more loyal to her than to you, hahren. Could she be motivated primarily by vengeance?"

Solas pinched his lips together, considering. Briala should have been an ally. She'd served the People before, acting as a trickster in her own right. When Celene had proven herself an untrustworthy guardian of the People, Briala put aside her own personal feelings in favor of serving and protecting the elven people. Why was she not doing the same now?

The answer seemed obvious: Briala had deemed him, Solas, an unworthy leader for the People.

"She has never trusted you, hahren," Mathrel said. "During the rebellion Orlesian troops came to your room and fought Lyris and I. We believed they sought Lady Lavellan."

Solas nodded at the reminder. "And Ellana has told me she encountered and fought Briala's elves as well." He chuckled to himself. "Never truly pick a side. Felassan taught her too well, it seems."

"What?" Mahanon asked.

Solas blinked as he realized he'd mentioned his old friend in front of someone who hadn't known him. He rubbed over his face with one hand and heaved a sigh. Not for the first time he wished he hadn't executed Felassan. He'd been a powerful mage and Dreamer, rivaling Zevanni in power, and his irreverent sense of humor had constantly brightened Solas' more moody days. If only Solas had been more cautious, less impulsive. More compassionate and less coldly cunning. He'd killed Felassan for the sin of realizing this world was real and _might_ be worth saving and now, years later, had long since been converted to the same thinking.

_Felassan…_ Solas saw again Briala's steely, bitter eyes as she glared at him in the more heated exchanges they'd had that afternoon. Was that the look of a cunning woman bent on serving the People, or was it personal? His gut said Briala had chosen Celene's side now over his own definitively, and it likely had less to do with the foci he'd given to Corypheus or her love for Celene and more with the death of her mentor, something Mythal had likely shared with her to poison her against him.

"Nothing, falon," Solas told Mahanon. "But I suspect you are correct about the Marquise's motivations. She may prove unwilling ever to ally with me."

"And what of ma asamalin?" Mahanon asked. _What of my sister?_

Pivoting slightly to look toward camp where Ellana sat with her mother, sister-in-law, and several other men and women from her clan, Solas smiled slightly. "A very good question."

"We might convince both the empress and the marquise to give in if we posture a little," Mathrel suggested.

Abelas nodded. "With Lady Lavellan leading."

Solas made no reply, still watching Ellana as she fidgeted with the sling she wore, carrying Sylvun. Since they'd returned to camp she'd been attending to their son with a focus Solas knew was borne of maternal fear and instinct. The threat of the Chantry or the Orlesians claiming their tiny son still made Solas' blood boil.

"But they'll know Fen'Harel is the true threat," Zevanni insisted with a snort. "It isn't Lavellan who raised ice walls around Halamshiral."

"No," Mahanon agreed with a note of irritation. "But it _was_ Lana who made that decision. Just as it was Empress Celene who declared war on us, not the shem-warriors she sent to fight us."

The archer on the hill far away was again going through the motions of drawing his bow, aiming off to the west. The thought of an assassin's arrow kept digging into Solas' mind, making him wish for Aegis. If only he had restored the Fade this far out from the city…

_Why can't we?_

This was still the Dales. They intended to restore the Fade to this area eventually. Why not do it now and remind the humans that if they wanted to fight for this land they'd have to contend with spirits and a landscape that was no longer solid and unchangeable. Well, no longer solid for someone like _Solas._

"What was it you said, falon?" Solas asked, turning and locking his gaze with Mathrel. "With some posturing we might convince the empress and Briala to capitulate?"

Mathrel nodded at him, his lips curled slightly at the corners. "You have an idea, hahren?"

Solas smirked back at him. "I do."

* * *

Ellana couldn't believe she was doing this. Standing in a depression a short jog south of their campsite, Ellana kept casting nervous glances northward to the hill where she'd left Sylvun with her mother, Rinaya, Lyris, and Mahanon. The entire camp was at attention, with elven warriors, archers, rogues, and mages keeping watch on all sides. No one knew how the humans might choose to react once they realized their elven neighbors had torn a hole in the Veil.

"We will dispense with the demons quickly," Solas said from her side in a hushed, hurried voice. "Then I will reshape the Fade to match reality. Abelas, Mathrel, and Shila will draw the runes."

"And the others will guard camp and the rift," Ellana finished with a nod. "I understand, emma lath." Glancing to the west, where the sun had begun to slide toward the horizon, Ellana frowned. "We need to do this swiftly or the humans will see the light of the rift in the dark. They may think we plan to summon demons for an attack on them."

Solas' stare was somber and intense, his blue eyes so dark they might as well have been deep brown. "I am willing to take such a risk to ensure our safety with Aegis wards." He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking upward. "As I explained earlier, I also hope this will aid the empress and the marquise in their deliberations regarding the Dales." Pausing again, he licked his lips and laid a hand over her shoulder. "If you do not wish to do this, vhenan…"

"No," she said, grasping his hand on her shoulder. "I can't see any reason not to try it. It's not as if the Orlesians might not try to attack us regardless. Why shouldn't we use everything at our disposal to ensure we are safe?" Her gaze flicked to camp and she swallowed the sudden hot lump in her throat as she immediately found herself worrying for Sylvun.

Solas smiled. "Then we are agreed?"

She nodded emphatically. "Let's begin."

As soon as Solas stepped back from her a few meters, dropping into a tense, battle-ready stance, Ellana drew in a deep breath and called upon the Anchor. It crackled and hissed as it came to life, sparking green in her palm. Gritting her teeth against the inevitable pain, Ellana thrust her hand out, aiming low, and felt the magic _snap_ inside her mind as it gripped the incorporeal Veil and pierced it, latching onto the Fade beyond. Clenching her hand into a fist, Ellana drew it down and with a dull boom that echoed over the hills, the Fade rift sprang open in a flash of green.

Dalish hunters and Firsts assembled around the clearing and on the hillside around camp all readied their weapons in anticipation as the first demons materialized. Lerand was the first to swing his sword at a wisp, scattering its essence and sending it streaming back to the Fade rift. His brother, Samhel, used a spear, thrusting it into a terror demon that'd hauled itself up from the grassy earth, still dripping green Fade ether. Abelas tossed barriers up over both brothers, then Fade-stepped in a blue streak beneath the rift to offer backup to Mathrel, who'd begun chopping at a screeching wraith with his spirit blade.

Three shades moved in their odd undulating, swimming gait and immediately made their way toward Ellana. She readied her bow, ignoring the lingering pain in her left palm, and nocked an arrow, but as she drew it back Solas Fade stepped through two of the shades, freezing and shattering them. With a shout, Ellana let her arrow fly into the third shade's neck. It shuddered at the impact and dissolved into green ether, streaking back toward the rift.

With another booming crack, the rift convulsed and sent out a second wave of demons. This time there were three terror demons, a rage demon, and a host of shades. Ellana gritted her teeth and took aim using a full draw at the more sedate rage demon as it barreled down on Deshanna and Shila. After hitting the rage demon with her arrow, which seemed to ignore her as it blew a spout of flame at Deshanna, Ellana nocked another arrow and took aim again—but a sharp _whang-pop_ sound made her flinch, setting her ears ringing. Blinking, she saw all the demons had collapsed, shuddering as they dematerialized and were sucked back into the rift.

A quick glance to Solas and she knew what'd happened. He looked pale and ashen, shaky from the enormous mindblast, but he'd killed all of the demons with that single massive blow. Their eyes locked and Ellana trotted over to him, gripping his shoulder with her free hand when she reached him. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "Of course." Motioning at the rift, he said, "We must hurry."

Ellana stepped back from him and motioned at Mathrel, Abelas, and Shila. "You three are with Solas and I." She paused a moment as they moved to obey her, then called out, "You all consent to use your blood for the runes in the Fade?"

Shila made a face of disgust, but nodded alongside both Mathrel and Abelas.

"Good, then let's go," Ellana said and pressed ahead toward the rift.

* * *

**Next Chapter:**

"You waste your breath," Briala grumbled, her head slumping forward. "I'm dying. The least you could afford me is some peace and quiet while I pass."

"There is no need for you to die, lethallan," Solas muttered with a small frown.

"You cannot be serious," Zevanni snarled, gesturing angrily between Briala and Solas before her brown eyes darted to Ellana with something like disdain. "If this is because Lavellan is weak and would disapprove—"

"Disapprove?" Ellana countered with a scoff. "I'm ready to execute her myself!"

"Then do it," Zevanni shot back heatedly and drew a dagger from her belt, flipping it around to hold it by the blade and extending it to Ellana. "Kill this traitorous bitch."


	50. Harellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone agrees with the idea of peace with humans. Tensions brewing for some time finally explode in betrayal.

Although Shila, Mathrel, and Abelas worked quickly inside the Fade once Solas had reshaped it to match the waking world, it seemed to take far too long to finish the runes. Solas oversaw each one personally, creating a hard surface for each rune to be drawn upon. As per usual, he also added the markings needed to ensure spirits could permeate the barrier and pass from restored Fade waking world to raw Fade and back again as they desired.

The raw Fade was fairly empty of spirits near the rift, but further from it there were wisps darting to and fro. A few more ambitious spirits had decided to emulate humanoid shapes moving about the crop fields, reenacting the memory of the farmers who'd inhabited this spot. They ignored the elves as they completed several enormous circles extending from the area around the rift to the farmhouse and then beyond to incorporate the human camps to the northwest and northeast.

After his work with the runes had been completed, Solas watched the spirits, feeling a slight melancholic tug on his heart. For ages he'd watched the world through reenactments like this when he'd grown tired of touching the sleeping minds of mages. The weakness of uthenera, the unending dream that'd kept him from dying after he'd erected the Veil, seemed so far away and yet…sometimes he wondered if he had never woken. Watching Ellana activate the runes, feeling the warm pressure of his love for her swelling in his chest, he could scarcely believe how greatly his life and his plans had changed. When the nearest wisps and spirits sensed his emotions they abandoned their reenactment to circle him like curious children and Solas had to chuckle and push his heavy thoughts from his mind.

When Ellana had charged each rune, they returned to the rift and stepped through it. Solas took point, which meant that he was the first to realize something wasn't right as he stepped into the hard earth of the waking world and heard shouts. Stiffening as he saw Lerand charging toward him, Solas immediately lunged out from the rift, twisting to look toward camp as he registered the warrior's words.

"We're under attack! Assassins!"

In the grayish light of twilight, Solas saw mage fire flare bright yellow-orange in the camp, then heard the crackle of lightning. Lavellan clan had formed a half-circle of warriors, hunters, and mages as they repelled attackers dressed in black—cloaked rogues wielding daggers.

Behind him, Solas heard Ellana shriek, "No! Sylvun!"

"Complete the rune circle, vhenan!" he shouted. Then, tossing up a barrier over their group, Solas Fade-leapt to the hill, stopping just behind one of the shadowy rogues. With a flash of his eyes he petrified the man, then summoned a Veilstrike with a grunt, smashing all those who were hostile to their group into the ground.

An arrow breezed in from somewhere around the hill, sizzling as it bounced off the barrier Solas had in place. Noting that there was at least one archer somewhere out in the darkness, Solas ignored it for now as he fixed his gaze on the next four assassins and petrified them before they could rise to their feet. The drain of mana made the world spin around him but Solas clenched his jaw and pushed through it, erecting another barrier over himself and everyone nearby.

He took an instant to look into the protected center of the camp, searching for a sign f Sylvun, and saw Lyris with her back to him, acting as backup for the clan. She had hunkered down protectively over Rinaya, Ashani, and another small elven boy too young to fight. In Rinaya's arms was her daughter Deya, and Ashani held the white halla-leather sling carrying Sylvun. Relief made his heart unclench yet simultaneously hardened his resolve to end this mess quickly.

With his mana already nearly as full as it could get with the Veil strangling him, Solas reached deep inside his core and summoned power for a mindblast. With a flourish motion of both arms, Solas unleashed it in a massive metallic _bang_ that tore its way through the camp and down the hill. Like all his magic, it carried his will, allowing it to discern between friend and foe with ease. Though the sound startled clan Lavellan and the other Dalish and Elvhen, it proved harmless as it washed over them—but when it hit a cloaked assassin she screamed with agony. The mindblast blew her apart on impact—and killed the dozen or so other closest attackers on contact in the same way. One moment they were whole and alive, the next they dissolved in a wet, red splatter on the grass.

Nauseous from expelling so much energy at once, Solas sagged forward, breathing raggedly. Cries of alarm echoed through the camp as Lavellan clan gawked at the gore caused by the explosion, many of them likely unaware of what had happened or how. The clan finished the last visible assassins off easily, before Solas could recover enough to stand erect again.

He heard rapid footsteps rustling through the grass and turned to see Ellana, Lerand, and Samhel had reached him. She'd of course been unable to stand back while their son was in danger in favor of completing the rune circles, but she _had_ apparently ordered Mathrel, Abelas, and Shila to continue work on the waking world marks. Solas offered her a wan smile, "Sylvun is safe, vhenan."

Her eyes still held a wild, fearful look as she registered his words with a nod. "I left the others to make the runes," she explained breathily. "But I couldn't—"

"I know," he interrupted her, voice gentle even as he raised his palm in the wordless command to stop. "But we _must_ restore the Fade. If—"

"Fen'Harel!" Zevanni shouted, charging toward him. Her face was twisted in a vicious snarl. "We found their leader." Behind her, Solas saw two elven figures hauling a limp third between them and felt rage burn through him as he recognized the woman they carried.

"Briala," he snarled.

The rogue elf was conscious but weak, held up by Deshanna on her right and Var on her left. Her head lolled as she struggled to lift it and glare at Solas, one lip curling over her white teeth. "Dread Wolf," she answered, sneering with hate.

"You did this?" Ellana demanded from behind Solas, stomping forward and radiating rage. The Anchor, still glowing green from recent usage, crackled and sparked as she clenched her hands at her sides. "For Celene? Have you forgotten you're one of the People? Have you forgotten what _I_ did for you?"

"I did this for the People," Briala growled, glaring at Ellana only a moment before she turned her eyes back on Solas and spat at him. The spittle missed but Zevanni struck Briala across the face in punishment. The next time Briala spat it was tinged with blood.

"Why have you done this?" Ellana asked, shouting and still shaking with rage. "You're delusional if you think attacking us is for the good of the People." She was silent a half-second before adding, "The _elven people."_

"You are the delusional one, Lavellan," Briala snarled. Her teeth had dark stains on them—blood—and the whites of her eyes were darkening as well. Solas realized she'd been caught by his mindblast just far enough out that she hadn't been killed, but she might yet die from the trauma of it. Zevanni's strike to her face likely hadn't caused her to bleed at all. She'd be hemorrhaging internally, dying slowly from the massive dose of force and spirit damage.

"You're dying," Solas told her, his voice cold and detached. "Whatever you hoped to accomplish here, you failed."

Briala spat again, blood trickling down her lip and onto her chin. Her breath sounded wet and ragged. "I did," she said, her voice thick, whether from blood or from emotion, Solas couldn't be certain. "But I will die free from your tyranny, Fen'Harel." She swallowed, her throat bobbing. "Someone else will make you pay for what you've done."

"And what is that, lethallan?" Ellana asked her. "Restoring immortality to the People? Reclaiming a homeland for the People?"

"The Conclave," Briala said with a wet cough. "The deaths of thousands at Halamshiral." She made a choking noise then and Solas saw moisture glimmering in her eyes. "Felassan."

And there it was. Solas closed his eyes and turned his head away, clenching his jaw as he recalled the Elvhen man's face: his violet eyes and the elaborate but fake vallaslin devoting him to Mythal.

"You are no leader for the People," Briala rasped. "No steward. No god."

Unable to stay silent at her last jab, Solas glared at her. "I have never claimed divinity, nor will I ever."

"Mythal told me of you," Briala said, sucking in a wet breath. She looked to Ellana and spoke in a pleading tone, "The Dread Wolf only brings war and ruin. He cannot rule our people unchecked."

"Our people?" Ellana retorted, shrill with outrage. " _Our people?_ You mean the people you just attacked with a group of assassins? My clan? My friends? My _son?"_ She took a threatening step forward, visibly shaking with fury. "You have _no_ right to dictate to me who should lead when you are _attacking us._ "

Laying a restraining hand on Ellana's shoulder, Solas edged closer to Briala and spoke in a soft voice. "You wish to aid the People, lethallan?" Not bothering to wait for her answer, he said, "Then you should know that Mythal plays the Game as well as Celene ever did and has been manipulating you. What she has told you about myself is true, after a fashion, but I have never intended to rule alone. I have no desire to be a dictator or tyrant."

He paused a beat, narrowing his eyes. "But I wonder what you would think if you but knew how Mythal ruled in Elvhenan. You have made countless excuses for the empress you love, and doubtless believe she a better leader than I, but Celene will never rule the Dales. It is Mythal who desires a share of power, and you must admit you know nothing of her. I wonder what you will say when you know more of her ways."

"You waste your breath," Briala grumbled, her head slumping forward. "I'm dying. The least you could afford me is some peace and quiet while I pass."

"There is no need for you to die, lethallan," Solas muttered with a small frown.

"What?" came the confused—or angry—chorus of reactions from around him. Not only Deshanna, Var, Ellana, and Zevanni, but also half of clan Lavellan staring at the exchange from camp.

"You cannot be serious," Zevanni snarled, gesturing angrily between Briala and Solas before her brown eyes darted to Ellana with something like disdain. "If this is because Lavellan is weak and would disapprove—"

"Disapprove?" Ellana countered with a scoff. "I'm ready to execute her myself!"

"Then do it," Zevanni shot back heatedly and drew a dagger from her belt, flipping it around to hold it by the blade and extending it to Ellana. "Kill this traitorous bitch."

Ellana glared at Zevanni and then shot Solas a bemused look. "What are you thinking, Solas?"

Staring at Briala, Solas said, "If we restore the Fade I can heal her."

"But why?" Var growled. "She will only try to kill you—kill _us_ —again."

Still staring at Briala, Solas said, "I made a mistake when I killed Felassan. He was dear to me and I believed I had no choice when he betrayed me in order to save _you."_ Slowly, he shook his head. "I have no desire to render his sacrifice pointless by letting you die."

"She's not worth the mana," Zevanni snarled. "Fen'Harel, you must—"

"Venavis," he growled at her. _Stop._ Facing Ellana, Solas gazed at her a moment before saying, "If you wish her to die, so be it, vhenan, yet she may prove valuable as a prisoner."

Ellana's eyes flicked between Solas and Briala, her mouth puckering as she considered. Then her brow furrowed and she sighed. "If you want to save her, Solas, I won't stop you."

"This is ludicrous," Zevanni snapped. She pivoted the blade around, gripping it at the haft and pivoting to face Briala. "If neither of you have the courage to—"

With a focused Veilstrike, Solas pushed Zevanni sideways. She skidded, her feet kicking up dust as she caught herself, dispelling most of the magic. Huffing angrily, she glared at Solas. "The fuck was that for?"

"Do not question me. Go. Make yourself useful. Leave with a few scouts and patrol the perimeter," Solas commanded her.

"But Fen'Harel," Var yelled, shaking his head in angry consternation. "You cannot—"

"Go with Zevanni," Solas ordered, gesturing at Var. When neither elf moved for a few moments, merely glowered with a mixture of confusion and outrage, Solas shouted, "Now."

Var released his hold on Briala and stalked off to join Zevanni as she turned on her heel and marched down the hill and into the full darkness of the nighttime. Briala, left with only Deshanna to support her, slumped to the ground, catching herself weakly with one arm. She grunted, coughing blood onto the grass as Deshanna tried to haul her upright again.

"Vhenan," Solas said, squeezing her shoulder. "We need to restore the Fade soon or she'll die."

Ellana hesitated, chewing the corner of her lip. "I can't say that motivates me all that much, Solas."

With a slow breath inward, Solas touched beneath Ellana's chin, tilting her head back until her hard, angry eyes locked with his own. Keeping his voice low, he said, "I killed Felassan because he defied me and insisted this world was worth saving. That _she_ was worth saving." Leaning closer to her, he pressed his forehead to hers. "Is this not the same lesson you taught me?" Drawing away, he let go of Ellana and looked back to Briala. "I will not have her blood on my hands any more than I already do. For _his_ sake."

Heaving a sigh, Ellana said, "Ma nuvenin, emma lath…Just…keep her away from our child."

"Without question," Solas replied with a somber nod.

As Ellana stalked off, Solas knelt and grabbed Birala's other arm. "I will take her, Keeper," he told Deshanna.

"I'm not about to leave you alone with this traitor, hahren," Deshanna grumbled under her breath.

"That's fine," Solas said with a dry chuckle. "But might I ask your help in laying her down?"

Deshanna helped him wordlessly lay Briala out on the hillside. In the orange light from the campfire several meters away, Solas saw the whites of Briala's eyes had gone dark with burst blood vessels. She wheezed with each breath but remained conscious, glaring at Solas through the dark.

"Saving me won't make me serve you," she growled, then broke off in a coughing fit, blood bubbling up between her lips. In the dark it was black like tar.

"That is not my intention," Solas said as he settled in the grass just out of reach from her. Deshanna sat on the opposite side of the ailing rogue, watching her with narrowed eyes. They fell into tense silence as they waited. In one direction Solas could see Ellana, Mathrel, Abelas, Shila, Lerand, Samhel, and a few other Dalish elves working to complete the runes to connect the waking world with its Fade counterpart. The crackle of the Anchor permeated the otherwise quiet, somber night as Ellana charged each rune. In the other direction, toward camp nearby, Solas saw Mahanon and Lyris beside the fire with Ashani and Rinaya, caring for and watching over the children.

"Tell me," Briala wheezed out suddenly. "About Elvhenan."

Solas glanced at her and saw the ashen pallor of her skin, glittering with sweat in the firelight on one side and with the faint green of the rift on the other. He let out a long breath. She was fading fast. "Save your strength, lethallan."

"No," Briala insisted, a gurgling sound in her throat. She coughed, shuddering, and Deshanna reached out to roll her onto her side as the rogue gagged on some blood in her throat. When the fit had passed she clutched at the grass, struggling to speak though her voice was so hoarse and her breathing so shallow she was difficult to understand. "Tell me," she gasped. "Who will…scrub your floors?"

"Keeper," Solas said, addressing Deshanna. The older woman lifted her head, staring at him avidly, her eyes bright in the firelight. "Who scrubs the floors in your clan?"

She frowned at him, finding the question nonsensical. "We don't have floors to scrub exactly, but if our aravels require cleaning, we clean them ourselves."

Briala closed her eyes and Solas didn't miss the small tear that slipped from the corner, flickering orange in the campfire light. "Tell me," she wheezed, swallowing. "About Mythal."

* * *

Ellana charged the runes in the large circle around their camp first to allow Solas to access his full power, but once that task was complete she barely allowed herself any time to enjoy the blissful caress of the restored Fade. They had the much larger circle to complete—if the humans didn't try to attack them. This last circle was so enormous it included both the Orlesian and the Divine's camp as well as the farmhouse. The huge size meant Ellana and her retinue could stay well away from the camps and hopefully attract little attention.

_Hopefully._

While Lerand and Samhel, the quietest in her group, scouted ahead to place the runes using charcoal, under cover of darkness, Ellana walked with Mathrel, Abelas, and Shila to charge each mark individually. Her palm ached from the use and her mind kept drifting to the memory of Solas' solemn, plaintive stare as he told her of Felassan.

The mercy and patience he showed for the Orlesian rogue should have struck Ellana as beautiful, but the only thing she could feel was the hot and then cold grip of maternal panic when she recalled stepping through the rift and hearing her clan's cries. She'd envisioned Mythal running away with Sylvun, or attackers slitting her tiny baby's throat. The terror and fury that'd taken over her mind had been hard to think through at all and she'd sprinted at top speed to try and reach the camp, to save her family and her son.

"Are you all right, lethallan?" Abelas asked her quietly.

The question jarred her out of her morbid thoughts and she nodded, picking up the pace as they jogged to the next coordinal direction where they'd no doubt find Lerand and Samhel waiting for them with another rune in place and waiting to be charged. But as they rounded the hill in the dark, Ellana stiffened, her breath caught in her throat for a fraction of a second as she saw a dozen figures instead of just the two Dalish warriors. Abelas, Mathrel, and Shila also froze at her side, tensing, but Lerand raised a hand to signal them, motioning them over.

Gradually, as Ellana and her escort neared the group, she recognized Zevanni and a handful of Dalish Firsts and Elvhen scouts. This was the group Solas had sent out on patrol, performing reconnaissance around the human camps. A quick survey of the stars told Ellana they were closer to the Divine's camp here than they were to the Orlesians.

"Took you long enough," Zevanni said in a low voice, a hard grin curling over her lips. Her teeth were bright against the dark. Feral. Ellana struggled with an instinctual wariness inside her that made her want to shy away from the Elvhen woman. She knew Zevanni had left the foci elsewhere for these negotiations to avoid irritating the Anchor, but something about the other woman had always rubbed Ellana the wrong way—probably the fact that they were polar opposites of each other.

"Well," Zevanni said when Ellana was silent and hesitated. "Charge the fucking thing. We haven't got all night."

"This is the last one," Samhel informed her, sounding eager.

"About damn time, too," Lerand whined.

"I wonder if Fen'Harel has saved that traitorous bitch yet," Zevanni grumbled under her breath. Her gauntleted hands curled into fists at her side, the metal on her fingers clinking. "She doesn't deserve it."

"On that we are agreed," Ellana said as she quashed her unease and stepped forward, raising her palm and willing the Anchor to life. It crackled and flashed white-green, a pulse of energy shooting out to the charcoal rune the ground. As the rune absorbed the magic and lit up, activating, Ellana felt the air around her thicken with Fade ether and heard the resounding rush of air spread out through the grasses.

Then came the pleasurable swell of magic coiling inside her.

As the Anchor fell silent, Ellana shuddered as gooseflesh dimpled her skin and warmth permeated her. The elves around her all grinned and shivered with pleasure at the touch of the Fade as well, especially Zevanni as she groaned and flexed, rolling her shoulders in their sockets. Then, distantly, Ellana heard shouts of alarm.

"The shemlen must see a wisp or something," Samhel commented with a grunting laugh. In just the few weeks of exposure the Dalish, including Lavellan clan, had had to the restored Fade, they'd begun seeing most spirits as harmless or entertaining. Solas had once told Ellana the Fade was just another part of nature for the Elvhen. Now she could see how true that was becoming even for her own people.

"C'mon," Ellana said. "We should return to camp. I have a baby to feed."

"Right," Zevanni said and made a dismissive gesture. "Off with you, Lavellan." Something in her tone seemed…impatient?

The sense of unease stirred inside Ellana again, making her frown at the Elvhen woman. "Is everything all right, Zevanni?"

"Everything's fine," she replied curtly and made the dismissive gesture again. "Now, off with you."

Ellana hesitated, narrowing her eyes through the dark as she assessed the scouts with Zevanni. In that moment of motionlessness and silence, Ellana also heard more shouts from over the hill in the direction of the Divine's camp.

A chill crawled over her skin and she resisted the instinctual shiver. How…odd that in the group Zevanni had managed to pick out only Dalish who weren't members of clan Lavellan. And the Elvhen with her were fairly recent recruits, woken from uthenera over the last few months and brought to Halamshiral to teach the modern elves magic and bolster their numbers with hardened veterans of arcane warfare. Those hardened veterans stared back at her now, their faces tense in the pale light of the moon. The Dalish scouts all had postures that spoke of tension.

"What's happening here, Zevanni?" Ellana asked in a tight voice.

Zevanni let out a sharp, humorless laugh and shrugged. "Nothing. Just what Fen'Harel asked us to do."

"Scout the perimeter?" Mathrel asked, a note of skepticism in his voice.

"A curious assemblage you have for such a task, lethallan," Abelas put in.

Zevanni groaned, rolling her eyes. Then, suddenly, she whipped back toward them and Ellana had only a heartbeat to brace herself, raising her hands and erecting a barrier—a skill Solas had ingrained into her in the Emerald Graves with lessons during every moment of downtime. Yet the barrier shimmered and broke, sparking with a bluish glow as Zevanni, a far more powerful mage, shattered it with ease.

Ellana had an instant to see the purple-black flicker of lightning before it hit her, enveloping her in a static cage. Her muscles twitched, prickling with needle-sharp pain. Her head felt as though it swelled to three times its size, blood pounding in her ears as she fought to breathe through the agony holding her frozen in place. Over the ear-splitting crackle of storm magic all around her, Ellana heard booms and pops and saw the flash of mage fire, but her head was stuck in a downward position, letting her see her hands raised in a defensive gesture and her feet crouched against the dry spring grasses. She couldn't see the fight, but she knew her escort was outnumbered.

What in the void was Zevanni doing? But she already knew the answer to that. The restored Fade made the chance to kill the humans too much of a draw. Had Solas told Zevanni to do this in secret? Had their scuffle and disagreement been just a show to convince her?

 _No,_ she pushed the thought away, grimacing with the pain still crawling over her skin as Zevanni's static cage continued. She couldn't believe Solas would endorse this. Not after he'd spared Briala and been determined to save her when Ellana herself had been ready to watch the other elf die.

The sounds and lights of fighting died away almost as suddenly as they'd started and Ellana didn't have long to wonder who'd won the exchange before the crackling of her static cage abruptly ceased. With her muscles still twitching uncontrollably, Ellana slumped and fell to her knees with a cry. She gasped in air, shaking and quivering as storm magic kept sparking off her body into the air.

"It didn't have to be this way," Zevanni grumbled, her footsteps scratching over the dirt. "If you'd just headed back to camp with the rest of your lot in tow."

Coughing as she regained her breath and some semblance of control, Ellana snuck a quick glance around her and saw the arcane warriors with Zevanni had surrounded Abelas, Mathrel, and Shila, two on either side. Each warrior held their hands aloft, channeling storm energy into static cages to keep the stronger mages restrained. Lerand and Samhel were on their hand sand knees, surrounded by the Dalish scouts who held swords and spears aimed at them.

Did Zevanni mean to kill all of them? Had she lost her mind? Solas would _kill_ her for this…

"Zevanni," Ellana croaked, struggling to look up at the Elvhen woman. "Have you gone mad?"

"Hardly," she replied, laughing. "I'm the only one here with the sense to see that this—" she gestured at the grasslands, vaguely indicating the human camps. "—all this _shit_ is a bloody waste of time. Fen'Harel wouldn't be here wasting his time if it weren't for _you"_ She snorted. "If it weren't for you, all of Thedas would already be ours and the damned Veil would be gone." She snarled, shaking her head as her hands moved into a casting position. "I should have done this ages ago."

"Solas will kill you for this," Ellana growled, her hands clenching into fists. Distantly, from the direction of the human camps, Ellana heard screams and the roar of fire, the clash of steel. _I have to stop this_. Her thoughts spun wildly, taking stock of the dagger at her waist and the bow and arrow quiver at her back…and the Anchor…

Zevanni laughed. "Wrong as usual, Lavellan. You think I'm fool enough to kill you?" She snorted. "Think again." Reaching inside her surcoat, Zevanni pulled out a small blade, no larger than a paring knife. "Those Tevinter bastards are good for only one thing, you know: Blood Magic. I learned a lot while I was there."

"Don't do this," Ellana said, shrill with panic as she saw Zevanni deftly slice across her palm and felt her skin crawl with revulsion as she sensed the blood magic churning in the air, thickening it with the scent of iron and copper. Something seemed to twist deep inside Ellana's skull and she winced. Lerand and Samhel did the same, inhaling sharply and grimacing as if with pain.

The blood in Zevanni's hand bubbled and gleamed red as the Elvhen woman murmured to it under her breath. The blood evaporated into a fine mist, rising as if conveyed by an updraft of wind, and wafted in a stream outward. It parted in three ways, two darting toward Lerand and Samhel while the third streaked straight for Ellana.

 _No,_ Ellana thought and popped upright suddenly, her left hand outstretched as the Anchor crackled to life. With the other hand she thrust up another barrier, extending it over Lerand and Samhel as well. The red mist sizzled against the bluish bubble of her barrier as well as the two Lavellan warriors and Ellana had a moment to feel a spurt of triumph at that minor success before Zevanni flung green spirit energy at her with one fist—a dispel counter.

"Stop this," Ellana shouted, tumbling sideways to try and dodge Zevanni's spell. She heard and sensed her barrier crackling as it began to fail and, desperate, thrust her left hand out again. _Mark of the Rift,_ she willed it, but though the Anchor flashed and crackled, nothing came. _No, no, no…_

"Fool," Zevanni said with a snort. The red mist had reformed and at Zevanni's wave of a hand it raced for Ellana again.

Thrusting her hand up again, Ellana changed tactics and summoned Aegis. The green bubble formed over her at once, blocking the red mist, but she saw Lerand and Samhel's barriers had decayed, leaving them vulnerable again. But even as she reached inward to try and find the mana to shield both warriors, the men made their move. Samhel shot upright as Lerand tossed a barrier over them both, protecting them from the blood magic spell as Samhel tussled with the nearest weapon-wielding Dalish guard.

"There's no time for this," Zevanni snarled. "Kill them. Fen'Harel won't care about them."

"No!" Ellana shrieked and, thinking fast, pivoted to attack the arcane warriors holding Abelas, Mathrel, and Shila inside static cages. Unleashing as much mana as she could in the wild lightning spell, Ellana flung the arcs of purple-white light at the arcane warriors and watched as it lit them up, crackling and running in chains. The warriors cried out, jerking spastically. Several of them faltered in their spells, the flow of storm energy cut off and with a sudden _whump-bang_ sound Abelas broke free, Fade-stepping through two of the nearest arcane warriors.

Dizzy after her spell, Ellana clenched her left hand in a fist, sucking in several deep breaths and trying not to collapse. Aegis kept her protected from the blood magic in the air as well as any hostile projectiles or traditional magic, so she had a moment to catch her breath. Her skin was slick with sweat, her head spinning. Was this mana burnout? It blighting _hurt._

Zevanni and Abelas were fighting, lobbing ice and fire at each other as the arcane warriors, many of whom were still twitching from her chain lightning, struggled to come to her aid without losing control of Mathrel and Shila as well—but to no avail. Mathrel burst out of his static cage next, his white spectral blade flashing. Another arcane warrior countered him, the blades buzzing as they clashed.

Grabbing her bow, Ellana nocked an arrow and fired at one of the arcane warriors maintaining the static cage around Shila. As she released the arrow it sparked with lightning, channeled through her and specially-made bow. The arrow hit its mark, finding the arcane warrior's armor gap at the neck. He let out a wet grunt and stumbled, releasing his half of the static cage and Shila fell from it, but unlike Mathrel and Abelas, she didn't come out fighting. Slumped on the ground, she shook uncontrollably as Ellana had earlier.

Nocking another arrow, Ellana aimed now for the Dalish scouts still struggling with Lerand and Samhel. "Stop this madness!" she shouted as she loosed the arrow again with a crackle of lightning, striking one of the scouts in the back of his knee. He cried out, stumbling, and Samhel, now armed with a sword he'd apparently stolen from one of them, ran the scout through the middle with a cry.

As Ellana nocked her next arrow, planning to take out another of the Dalish scouts to even the odds, she saw Samhel's barrier fail and the red mist swirl over him in a sudden frenzy when he didn't put up another barrier immediately. Samhel froze at its touch, staring dumbly forward. The elven woman he'd been fighting, however, thrust her spear through his chest.

Horror sent Ellana's heart into her throat. "Sam!" she yelled. "No!" Gritting her teeth as she saw Samhel collapse, blood streaming down his body, Ellana noticed Lerand's barrier fail as well and knew he was too busy fighting for his life to replace it. Lowering her bow, Ellana flicked her hand, casting a barrier over him quickly. Hot tears spilled unheeded down her cheeks as she took aim again and this time she went for kill shots.

When Aegis failed around her a few shots later, Ellana scrambled to put up another barrier, and saw Mathrel had taken out two of the arcane warriors. As he made eye contact with her across the short distance of their battlefield, Mathrel switched tactics and Fade-stepped to her with a slick popping sound. With a wordless shout he unleashed a greenish spell—dispel—and the red mist sizzling at the edge of Ellana's barrier evaporated, vanishing. A few meters beyond, where Lerand still fought for his life, the red mist disappeared there as well.

"I have to get you out of here," Mathrel yelled, reaching for her. Behind him Ellana could see two arcane warriors streaking for them in blue blurs as they Fade-stepped to stop him.

Without thinking, Ellana shoved Mathrel aside slightly and reached inside herself, finding the lightning again. With a rapid flash it crackled, flying from her in a wild, arcing chain, and struck both arcane warriors as they exited the Fade-step, momentarily paralyzing them. Mathrel turned on his heel, spectral blade buzzing and blindingly bright, and sliced at them both. The smell of burning flesh and hot metal assaulted Ellana's nose and left her shaking with nausea as well as the mana burnout.

Abelas and Zevanni were still fighting, one with fire and the other with ice. Shila was on the ground with an arcane warrior standing over her, his spectral blade sizzling with her blood. Ellana was dizzy at the sight, wondering when and how it'd happened. She drew an arrow and fired for the arcane warrior, catching him in the eye with a purple spark of lighting to go with it. "You bastards," she roared with rage and despair in the same quavering breath.

Then she felt Mathrel's arms around her shoulders and felt the cool swell of magic enveloping her. "No," she shouted and struggled, recognizing that he was about the Fade-leap or do something else to whisk her away from here. "No! They'll kill Lerand and Abelas—We can't leave, Math—"

Then she gasped as the world when white and her stomach seemed to press up into her stomach, her skin tingling with both pain and pleasure. Her ears popped and blackness returned. The world spun and she stumbled, grabbing onto Mathrel for stability. Beating on his chest in frustration and rage, Ellana shouted, "Take us back! She'll kill them! She's killing the Divine! We have to go back!"

"You're too valuable to risk," Mathrel told her gruffly, still holding her in his tight grasp as he turned, searching the hills around them. Through her tear-blurred eyes, Ellana saw the orange firelight of their camp and let out a strangled cry as new emotions assailed her. Sylvun. She had to make sure he was okay…

"Hold on," Mathrel told her, though he seemed to leave her no option to do otherwise as his armored hands clasped around her so tightly that she couldn't breathe as the cold swept over her again. They lurched forward in blinding blue-white light, and then with another pop Ellana found herself gasping and blinking through her tears at the familiar, alarmed faces of her clan.

"Lana?" Rinaya asked, her mouth hanging open and her blue eyes wide as saucers. Deya clung to her chest, staring with curious, innocent eyes.

Ellana spotted her mother beside the fire, wearing the halla sling, but no sign of Sylvun—until she saw the tall, grave figure of Solas nearby, the baby boy cuddled in his arms. His brow furrowed and his lips parted with alarm as he quickly passed Sylvun back to Ellana's mother and rushed to his feet. "Vhenan? Mathrel?"

"We have to stop her," Ellana blustered. "She'll kill the rest of them—and Cassandra…" She stabbed a finger back toward the north and both human camps. "We have to stop her!"

Solas frowned, his eyes flicking toward the north. "I don't understand…"

Mathrel twisted around to look north and cursed under his breath. "She's warded it. That damn clever bitch…"

Uncomprehending, Ellana whirled to face the north and her mouth fell open as she saw the two human camps on the distant hills appeared quiet and undisturbed. _She's warded them…_ Zevanni had planned this out well, apparently, taking the time to place illusionary wards on the hills to hide the carnage. Ellana's head spun at the strangeness of it. Such tactics were completely foreign to her and relied on the Fade to function. _Elvhen warfare,_ she thought and felt sick, swallowing bile.

"What is this?" Briala's voice rang out from deeper in camp. Ellana saw the Orlesian rogue had been bound hand and foot. She stared out at them, her expression stricken, but otherwise she appeared healthy now, completely cured. "What's happening?"

Ignoring Briala, Ellana refocused on Solas. "Zevanni has betrayed us. She's gone to kill the empress and the Divine. Her scouts killed Samhel and Shila..." She broke off, choking on the sudden surge of grief that closed her throat.

"Fenedhis," Solas snarled. His hot hands were on her cheeks then, tilting her head up to meet his stare. "Stay here, vhenan. I will end this."

Panic fluttered in her chest and she started to protest. "No, I can't—I could help. I have to save—"

"No," Solas shook his head vehemently, pressing close to her. "Stay here. Stay safe." He paused a moment, fear etched into his features. "You're shaking. Are you hurt?"

"She burned herself out," Mathrel said blankly, and then, softer, added: "She saved us."

"No," Ellana protested, shaking her head hysterically. "I let Shila and Samhel die and—"

"You've done all you can," Solas interrupted her. "Let me fight for you." He kissed her quickly. His blue eyes drilled into her, the silent question hovering between them. Could she trust him enough to fight without her? What if he had somehow condoned Zevanni's attack on the human camps? Sacrificed Samhel and Shila and Abelas and Lerand as acceptable losses?

Clenching her jaw, Ellana quashed that fearful thought. _No, Solas had nothing to do with this._ He would save everyone he could—and Mathrel was right. Ellana could feel her body trembling, her core aching painfully from the sudden massive expenditures of mana. Her body felt heavy, her muscles sluggish.

Gripping Solas' biceps, she squeezed tightly as she stared up into his blue eyes. "Save them, emma lath. _Please…"_

Solas nodded and maneuvered her around, directing her to the clan. "Mahanon, please care for her. Mana burnout," he said quickly. Ellana lurched toward her brother as he emerged from the rest of the quiet, stunned clan. She clung onto him, breathing raggedly and chilled by the sweat dousing her body as she watched Solas call Lyris and Deshanna to join he and Mathrel. And then, with a last glance at her, Solas disappeared in a black-purple flash of smoke, teleporting. Mathrel, Lyris, and Deshanna followed him by Fade-leaping or Fade-stepping.

* * *

**Next Chapter**

"I am doing what _must_ be done," Zevanni countered, shaking as she stared at Solas, teeth bared and gritted past her plump lips. "You know this is how it must be," she insisted. "I didn't mean for it to get so fucked, but you can still salvage this." Pointing toward Abelas and Celene, she said, "Let the bitch die of her wounds and tell Lavellan there was nothing you could do. Let me flee and I will serve you in secret."


	51. One Small Caveat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevanni's mutiny has unexpected results for Solas and Ellana.

As usual, Solas thought, this was _his_ fault—inadvertently, of course. How many times had Zevanni shown she was diametrically opposed to peace through deliberation and diplomacy rather than peace at the end of a blade? She'd never been patient, never been placid or accepting. She'd been an agent of chaos, violence, and carnage. She thrived on it and Solas had had plenty of uses for that over the years, pre-Veil and post-Veil alike.

Until now, however, she'd never been anything but loyal.

If he had left her in Tevinter…

But that hadn't been an option any more now that he'd agreed to tone down the rebellion in Tevinter. What was he supposed to do with an agent of chaos when the world was leaning toward peace? The answer was clear enough: eliminate her if she couldn't adapt or be tamed. But he'd denied it and run from it for weeks now, knowing that was the cold, calculating thoughts of the Fen'Harel who'd let Corypheus have his orb, the Fen'Harel that'd killed Felassan and considered leaving Ellana at the Exalted Council before he'd learned she was with child.

Now this problem had returned to bite him, right at the worst possible moment.

He'd sent Mathrel, Lyris, and Deshanna to try and head off the chaos in the human camps while he sought out Zevanni. Mathrel had told him quickly where she'd be—at the last cardinal point in the rune circle. He reached it in two jumps, though he could have done it in just one, he wanted to conserve his mana as much as possible. Zevanni was a powerful mage and might be able to deflect his petrification spell. As was always the case with a traitor, they always posed the greatest risk because they _knew_ you, strengths and weaknesses alike.

Materializing right at the edge of the rune circle, Solas grimaced at the stench of scorched flesh, blood, and gore. He spotted wounded and dead elves scattered about the grass and on the side of the hill. Scorch marks dotted the grass in spots and acrid smoke burned his nasal passageways. A small brushfire was licking its way up the hill. Solas recognized Shila amidst the bodies of several arcane warriors. She lay unmoving, in a pool of blood. Likewise, Solas saw Samhel lying with a wound in his chest, surrounded by the bodies of five elves in Dalish scout armor.

Lying beside Samhel, clutching his brother close, was Lerand, shaking with silent sobs. He was covered in blood and, seeing no obvious sign of either Abelas or Zevanni, Solas Fade-stepped to be at the warrior's side. "Lerand," he called. "Are you injured? Where is Zevanni?"

Lerand looked up at him, his eyes and face glistening with tears. "Can you save him?" he asked, the words so distorted by grief they were almost unrecognizable.

Solas shook his head. "Ir abelas, lethallin. He has passed. I cannot—"

"Then tell me you're going to kill her," Lerand snarled, his voice catching as he looked down again at his brother, pallid and bloodstained in his arms.

"I am," Solas answered in a low, solemn tone.

"Good," Lerand growled and stabbed a finger up the hill, where fire still crackled on the dry grass. "She fled uphill toward the Divine's camp. Abelas went after her."

"Ma serannas, lethallin," Solas told him and rounded on his heel, Fade-leaping in a blue streak up and over the hill.

Popping out on the downward slope of the opposite side, Solas saw the Divine's camp ahead was burning and brimming with combatants. Tents were burning in an inferno, sending ashes and smoke into the air, spiraling upward. Green orbs flitted at the edge of the camp, wisps that had either been pressed into service by Zevanni's attackers or had flocked to the battle out of simple curiosity. Solas saw dead Templars and Inquisition soldiers scattered about the area, but there were wounded or dead elven and Elvhen as well. Zevanni had taken casualties despite having the Fade and surprise on her side. Ellana must've disrupted her plans.

Below, at nearly the center of the camp, Solas saw a knot of human fighters in a defensive circle, taking mage attacks from all sides. Despite Zevanni's losses, it seemed she was winning. The defensive circle included Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, and Varric along with what appeared to be the last of the Divine's elite Templar bodyguards. The three remaining Templars had thrust their swords down, erecting auras of protection to shield Cassandra from the magical attacks of their elven foes. Solas saw Dalish scouts and a smattering of arcane warriors clinging to the edges of the darkness as they flung fireballs and ice along with the occasional arrow as well.

And then, from the south, Solas saw a series of blue-white streaks and a heartbeat later Mathrel, Lyris, and Deshanna were lunging at the nearest arcane warrior. The quickness of their attack took one of the warriors by surprise as Mathrel sliced him down with a strangled cry. Lyris hurled a massive fireball at another warrior, but he managed to dodge and his barrier withstood the force of her magic. Deshanna aided her companions by erecting barriers over them and casting ice mines.

_Where is Zevanni? Where is Abelas?_

But even as he hesitated with this question, Solas saw one of the Divine's Templars break, his aura of protection disintegrating with the force of a fireball hurled from one of the arcane warriors. There was no time for questions if Solas hoped to stop further losses—on the human side anyway.

With a breath inward, Solas took in the line of Dalish scouts still continuing the assault against the humans and petrified them with a flare of his eyes. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he conjured a Veilstrike that flattened the other attackers as well as the statues of the petrified Dalish scouts, smashing them to bits. The arcane warriors cried out with surprise and pain, even as several of them cast deflections and dispel charms to try and save themselves—but Solas' power easily obliterated their efforts. With another flick of his fingers, Solas cast an ice wall around the humans to shield them from harm, then he Fade-stepped into the battlefield proper, joining Mathrel, Lyris, and Deshanna.

"Hahren," Mathrel called to him in greeting as he cast winter's grasp on one of the still-prostrate arcane warriors. The Elvhen mage deflected it with a grunt and a wave of his hand. Like most of the warriors, he could not quite rise because the force of Solas' Veilstrike had broken bones and shattered joints. He had to heal himself first.

Solas eyed all five foes still prostrate and flash froze them. Then, clenching his fist and jerking it downward, summoned another Veilstrike to shatter the ice statues. He heard Deshanna gasp behind him, no doubt still stunned to see how easily and how fast he could kill. Solas didn't dare glance at her, knowing he'd hate the expression he saw there.

"Is that the last of them?" Lyris asked.

"Zevanni is still here, somewhere," Solas advised her with a frown.

"And what of Lerand?" Deshanna asked, her voice tight with emotion.

"He lives," Solas told her with a wan smile. "Unfortunately Ellana was correct that both Samhel and Shila were killed." Deshanna nodded, her expression crestfallen. Solas reached out and clasped her shoulder, squeezing firmly. "We will avenge them."

"But what of the humans?" Lyris asked, gesturing up the hill toward where Solas' ice wall still surrounded the Divine and the Inquisition leaders and any other survivors. From inside it Solas could hear their shouts and the metallic clink of their weapons as they hacked at the ice walls surrounding them.

"The empress is also in danger," Solas said with a shake of his head. "And I cannot allow Zevanni to escape." Inhaling sharply, he made his decision and pointed to all three mages around him. "Stay here and try to explain what has happened to the Divine and her people. I must stop Zevanni."

They nodded in obeisance and Mathrel said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Looking to the west, in the direction of the Orlesian camp, Solas reached inward and gripped the Fade, his power snapping somewhere deep inside. With a prickle of magic over his skin and through his blood, he willed himself forward, leaping to the outskirts of the Orlesian camp.

Immediately he saw the situation here was far worse than at the Divine's camp. The Orlesians had brought fewer people and the chevaliers, while exquisitely trained as warriors, had no chance of surviving a sustained attack from mages. The Templars had posed a much stronger threat with their ability to dispel magic. Zevanni's handful of Dalish scouts and arcane warriors had cut through their defenses here like butter. Chevaliers and Orlesian guards lay scattered about the grass at the edges of the camp, scorched or frozen and charred from lightning. Again wisps lingered here, watching the scene and darting between the bodies.

And at the center of it all Solas saw only Empress Celene remained—and she appeared to have been direly wounded. She lay on the grass beside a burning tent, clutching her side and curled in a semi-fetal position as blood pooled between the plates in her armor and into the dirt. Abelas stood in front of Celene, his stance protective and battle-ready while Zevanni stalked just out of the line of orange light from the burning camp, like a wolf circling her prey. Completing the triangle of Elvhen mages was Var, standing off to one side and shouting toward Zevanni, one hand raised in a pleading motion.

"Don't do this," Var yelled. "This is insanity."

"Insanity is _you_ trying to stop me, stop Fen'Harel," Zevanni yelled back at him, still pacing. She jerked a finger in Abelas' direction. "And _you._ And Lavellan." Then, with the suddenness Solas had always known was her trademark, Zevanni tensed and spun about, sending out a powerful mindblast toward both Var and Abelas.

Without thinking, Solas Fade-stepped in a blur out of the darkness and into Zevanni's line of fire, popping out of the maneuver and deflecting her blow with his own barrier. All three Elvhen mages seemed to jump at his sudden appearance, caught off-guard. Var reacted first, calling his Evanuris name, "Fen'Harel! Zevanni has lost her mind!"

"I am doing what _must_ be done," Zevanni countered, shaking as she stared at Solas, teeth bared and gritted past her plump lips. "You know this is how it must be," she insisted with a shake of her head. "I didn't mean for it to get so fucked, but you can still salvage this." Pointing toward Abelas and Celene, she said, "Let the bitch die of her wounds and tell Lavellan there was nothing you could do. Let me flee and I will serve you in secret."

"Your recklessness has killed dozens of us—Dalish and Elvhen alike," Solas snarled.

"She intended to use blood magic on Lady Lavellan and her escort—including myself," Abelas added in a low, dangerous voice.

"Oh Zevanni," Var said, almost moaning her name with what sounded like despair.

"She wasn't supposed to be there," Zevanni blurted, shaking her head. Her hands raised, palms up, a position for both offensive and defensive casting. "I never meant to kill those stupid bastards. I _only_ wanted to put an end to the shemlen leaders." She stared Solas down, her dark eyes intense and desperate. "Please, hahren, I know it was what you wanted, but you could not do it because of Lavellan. I have only ever served you."

Tears glistened in her eyes, orange in the firelight. The moment of tense silence stretched and the longer it went on the harder and faster Zevanni breathed, bracing herself for the inevitable attack as Solas wrestled with how _valuable_ the bloodthirsty Elvhen woman could be. He would undoubtedly need an agent of chaos again in the near future. He had zero faith that Tevinter would eliminate slavery in Ellana's allotted timeframe. But would Ellana allow him to act ruthlessly in the future to enforce that edict, or would it behoove him to have a secret ace up his sleeve—someone hidden like Zevanni?

The answer was clear: he _would_ find Zevanni useful if he left her alive. But she'd disobeyed him deliberately and defiantly, much as Felassan had. Except Zevanni's betrayal had cost lives: Shila, Samhel, and dozens of Dalish scouts, arcane warriors, and humans. He could never trust her again after this…

Solas reached inside himself, siphoning off a massive amount of mana and performing the same sudden mindblast Zevanni had a few moments ago. The Elvhen woman yelped and dropped to the ground in a roll, flicking one hand as she went to erect a barrier over herself. Solas' magic crushed the barrier, destroying it with a flicker of bluish energy, but the mindblast had expended its strength breaking that barrier by the time it hit her. As a result, Zevanni merely stumbled onto all-fours. She recovered almost instantly, however, lunging into a Fade-leap heading north away from the Orlesian camp.

"Save the empress," Solas shouted toward Var and Abelas, then Fade-leapt after her, deliberately streaking into her path. They collided with an almost metallic _bang!_ Solas used spirit energy in a raw force attack, knocking Zevanni out of her Fade-leap. She tumbled, having come out of it at a relatively steep spot of the hill. Solas Fade-stepped to overtake her, slashing with one hand to try and halt her with winter's grasp.

Zevanni shrieked, erecting a barrier to absorb his attack again. Once more his spell destroyed it but merely left Zevanni coated in a light layer of frost. Sobbing and laughing simultaneously, she glared at him from her crouched position on her knees. "You're toying with me," she snarled.

"No," Solas retorted with a growl. "I take no joy in this, but you have forced my hand."

"You're holding back," Zevanni spat. "You don't want to kill me." Her face was stained with dirt and blood dribbled from her nose. Perhaps Solas' mindblast had done some damage after all.

Drawing more mana from his core, he said, "But I will do so, nonetheless _."_

Solas' eyes flared as he cast the petrification spell, but Zevanni again flicked her hand in a deflection counter-spell—one he'd taught her himself to protect against the very strongest Dreamer mages. But Solas had anticipated the move and followed the petrification spell with an immediate Veilstrike and a fireball.

Zevanni cried out as the Veilstrike flattened her and had no chance to raise a barrier to defend against the fireball. She screamed as the flames engulfed her, wild and hot, fueled from the ocean of mana reserves in Solas' core. The sound of her agony made Solas feel nauseous and he grimaced, quickly casting the petrification spell again to turn her to stone and end her agony.

In the silence that followed, Solas stared at the still burning statue and cursed under his breath. "Fenedhis lasa, Zevanni. You heartless _fool._ " Remembering Lerand's grief as he held his dead brother in his arms, Solas waved his hand at Zevanni's petrified corpse, summoning a Veilstrike to shatter the remains. The spell snuffed out the fire as well, leaving only a smoking scorch mark in the dry spring grasses.

He Fade-stepped back to the Orlesian camp and saw both Abelas and Var around the empress, their hands glowing with bluish healing magic. The former sentinel registered his approach first, lifting his head and arching an eyebrow. "Zevanni has been dealt with?"

"Indeed," Solas answered, vaguely aware that Var and Abelas _could_ choose to believe he'd allowed Zevanni to escape. He pushed that thought aside as he saw Celene's ashen face, mask-less now, staring up at him. Her pale hair was coming loose out of its militant bun.

"Am I to be your prisoner again?" she asked with a slight sneer.

"I have no interest in holding you prisoner, empress," Solas told her blankly, sighing with weariness. "Just as I had no desire to see these talks end in this manner— _again_."

Celene breathed faster, nostrils flaring and her eyes narrowing. She winced as Var finished his latest healing spell. "You expect me to believe this was not in retaliation for Bria's attack on you?"

Solas shot her a glare. "If it were, why would I save you?"

Celene's breathing picked up more, her shoulders heaving against the scorched grass beneath her. "And what of Bria?" she asked.

"She lives as well," Solas told her.

The empress' eyes widened and her lips parted. "What?"

"You need not concern yourself with it," Solas told her dismissively with a slash of one hand.

"I did not sanction her actions," Celene blurted suddenly, struggling to sit up with a strangled grunt. Abelas gripped her shoulder, pressing hard on her and forcing her back to the earth. "Bria acted on her own."

That _could_ be true, or it could be a lie. Solas found he didn't care. Staring out to the east, he could see the Divine's camp bristling with moving figures as they collected the dead. "Can she walk?" Solas asked Var and Abelas.

"Shemlen are not as resilient as we are in the Fade, apparently," Var grumbled, huffing as if he'd run a mile. "I've nearly gone to mana burnout trying to heal her." He paused a moment before adding grumpily, "In the restored _Fade._ "

"Can she walk, lethallin?" Solas repeated, a note of irritation in his voice now as he glanced down at the former rogue.

It was Abelas who answered, nodding solemnly. "Yes, hahren."

"Then let us go," Solas said and watched as Abelas and Var moved to help Celene to her feet. She grimaced, clearly in pain, and kept a hand at her side, clutching at her armor.

She shot Solas a look that was both resentment and something else—bafflement. "I thought I was not to be your prisoner, Dread Wolf?"

"I'm taking you to the Divine," Solas said blankly and motioned to the camp some distance away. "Unless you'd prefer to remain here with your dead chevaliers."

"No," she said, sounding guarded.

"Then let us be off." Solas nodded and turned, beginning the walk to the Divine's camp.

* * *

The clan was in mourning. Negan and a few of the other hunters had left on Mahanon's orders to find Lerand if he still lived. They returned about an hour later, well past midnight, carrying Samhel's body between them and with Lerand in tow looking wretched with despair. As the night went on, Deshanna returned to camp and called on her hunters to aid her in carrying back additional dead—Elvhen arcane warriors and Dalish scouts from other clans.

Ellana slept through much of it, laying beside the bonfire exhausted and drained from mana burnout. She woke groggily when Sylvun, in his little woven bassinet, cried for a late night feeding and let him nurse. His little grunts and soft breathing sounds filled her mind, pushing out all else, but when she slipped into the realm of dreams she saw again the red mist sizzling against her barrier and felt her heart race with horror. She saw the Dalish scouts turn on Lerand and Samhel, spearing both men through the chests to let their blood flow out in a river of crimson. But when she cried out and tried to save them, Ellana would watch as they miraculously recovered and fought back, letting her realize this was a dream.

When she willed the dream images away she woke with a jolt and saw the gray-blue light of dawn in the sky. The bonfire had died down, letting a bit of the night chill draw closer. She reached for Sylvun in his bassinet, snug and warm beneath several blankets and sighed with relief.

A rustling from behind her made her roll over slightly to see who was behind her and she smiled as she recognized Solas. "Emma lath," she greeted him, struggling to sit up and grimacing at the jittery weakness still in her muscles.

"Shh," Solas shushed her, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. "You overexerted yourself last night. You must rest or you'll prolong the recovery."

She gripped his hand on her shoulder and let her eyes drift shut. Around the fire she could hear the quiet whimpering from Deya as she stirred with a nightmare, likely responding to all the emotions of the grieving adults, carried in the restored Fade. More than a few of her clansmen were quietly sobbing. Samhel had been well-liked and a notable hunter for the clan. His bondmate and two children were still in the Emerald Graves, but his father, Taehon, had come with them to this meeting. Ellana was almost sure she could hear him crying.

Sucking in a wavering breath, Ellana opened her eyes again and turned her head on the ground toward Solas. "Tell me what happened," she said. "Please."

He nodded, his jaw clenching. "Zevanni's attack decimated the Orlesians, but I managed to save the empress. The Inquisition and the Divine fared better." Falling silent a moment, he lifted his gaze to stare out beyond their camp and to the north. "The scouts and arcane warriors who aided Zevanni have been dealt with." He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "And as for Zevanni—I saw to her myself."

"And Abelas? Lerand?" she asked.

Solas' lips curled in a small smile. "Alive. As is Var. He claims to have had no idea Zevanni would do as she did. She sent him and the few scouts she suspected would not aid her away but kept the bulk of their group with her. When you restored the Fade some attacked the Divine and the rest took on the Orlesians. She intended to fulfill what she _believed_ was my unspoken will and expected I would forgive her. She was mistaken."

"She was going to use blood magic on us, Solas," Ellana murmured, her voice small and breathy.

He heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "I know, vhenan." He shook his head. "The fault here is mine. I knew Zevanni was…restless. She is—" He cut himself off with a frown. "She _was_ a creature of chaos, but I had no purpose for her talents currently."

Ellana said nothing, conflicted by the guilt she saw in his expression and her own quiet rage when she thought of how Zevanni had betrayed them. That Solas could still find fault with _himself_ and not Zevanni left her speechless. As ruthless as he could be—taking Halamshiral in rebellion, raiding and inciting violence in Tevinter and across Thedas, letting a monster like Corypheus have his foci, and killing his friend Felassan—he had never been truly bloodthirsty or heartless. He _cared_ deeply and genuinely when it came to his people.

Finally Ellana asked, "Why did you save the empress?"

Solas blinked, his brow furrowing as he met her stare. "It was what you would have wanted, vhenan." He shook his head. "Sadly, it will do us no favors. Any chance at peace through diplomacy has been obviated by Zevanni's actions."

"Did you explain what happened to Cassandra?" she asked quietly.

"I did, yes. Yet without Celene's willing participation in these deliberations, the Divine's support will do us little good." He stared down at his hands, a vertical line forming between his brows over the bridge of his nose. "We will have to take the Dales, which will only lead to more political pressure for the Divine. She cannot continue to support us." His hands curled into fists. "But she cannot stop us."

Ellana reached out for him, taking his hand and squeezing it in her own as she smiled sadly. "I know, emma lath. We tried, but if we must walk the path of war, we will. Together."

* * *

The clan prepared to leave, packing up with the speed and efficiency only the Dalish could achieve. The dead were carried on sledges or strapped to the backs of the halla, forcing many who'd ridden in to walk now. Despite the fact that the dead scouts, brought from other clans, had betrayed them, Deshanna was determined to return them to their families for proper funerary rites. Although Ellana still shook with grief and rage at the memory of the scouts killing Samhel, and she saw the agony on Taehon and Lerand's faces at Deshanna's order to treat the dead scouts with respect, she stood by the Keeper's command when Mahanon and others disputed it.

"How can you support this?" Mahanon demanded, his hazel eyes narrowed with anger as he gazed between Deshanna and Ellana. Moisture glistened in Mahanon's eyes—unshed tears for his lifelong friend.

"They were misguided," Ellana said, shoulders slumping. "And they paid for it with their lives."

"So did Sam," Lerand cut in, chin wrinkling and lips trembling with emotion.

"Ir abelas, Ler," she said and closed her eyes, the prickling tears skidding down her cheeks as she did so. She kept one hand wrapped protectively around Sylvun tucked away in his sling, ready for travel. "I know this is hard, but it is the right thing to do."

"We are one people," Deshanna said somberly. "We cannot let this fracture us."

"These scouts were _harellan_ , a disgrace," Taehon spat. "One of them was of clan Ghilath, but he stood by as the arcane warriors killed Shila, his clan's own First."

"Zevanni planned to use blood magic," Ellana said. "They could have been under her compulsion the whole time." She sighed, her throat burning with emotion. She glanced toward Deshanna, deciding to let the older woman fight this battle. The camp was almost completely ready to retreat for the eluvian to the south. Only a few harts and halla carried living riders. Rinaya was mounted on her halla, with Deya strapped to her back and sleeping as she waited for Mahanon to take the reins of her mount. He would be walking while she would ride.

Twisting to look down the hill toward where she had opened the rift the previous night, Ellana saw Solas gathered around the arcane warriors who'd died serving Zevanni. Lyris, Mathrel, Abelas, and Var were with him. Solas' soothing voice drifted up from the depression, murmuring in elven as he raised one hand and with a sweeping motion ignited the bodies. Unlike the clan, it seemed Elvhen funerary rites called for the bodies to be burned rather than buried.

Standing off to one side of the inferno, close to Abelas, was Briala. The Orlesian rogue was bound with her hands behind her back and her eyes downcast. Ellana frowned lightly, wondering just what they'd do with the marquise.

Then, suddenly, from the north, Ellana heard Negan's voice and a few other hunters calling out her name. "Lana! Lana!"

Tensing and with her heart lurching into her throat. Ellana pivoted to watch as Negan and several young hunters jogged to her, their eyes wide and chests heaving. Her old hunting master was the one who spoke when they reached her. "The Divine rides this way—with the empress."

Ellana frowned, shaking her head as her stomach seemed to clench and drop to the ground. Had things taken yet another turn for the worst? She clutched Sylvun tighter, trying to draw reassurance from his weight and body heat. "Do they look as though they have come to attack us?"

Negan shrugged, brow furrowing. "Forgive me, da'len. We did not stay near them long enough to discover their intentions." He paused a moment, cocking his head as he considered. "They are all armed and in armor, as one would expect for an attacking force. Yet they did not show any hostility to us, though we were within range that their arrows could have picked us off."

"Prepare for an attack," Deshanna said, motioning toward Mahanon, Lerand, and the other hunters and warriors. "We must assume the worst to be safe."

Turning to Rinaya on her halla, Ellana said, "Fetch Solas." The elven woman nodded and clicked her tongue as she tugged on the halla's reins and directed it down the hill at a steady gallop, the motion bouncing Deya on her back. Ellana searched for her mother, finding her beside a halla carrying one of the dead scouts over its back and hurried to unhook Sylvun's sling from herself, passing it to the older woman. By the time she'd finished with that, Solas was with the Keeper and Mahanon, directing the Elvhen with him to take up positions further out from camp.

Across the plain, Ellana saw the dust from the horses as the riding party charged past the farmhouse. Even this far away she saw Cassandra's golden armor, resplendent and glittering in the low early morning sunlight. Empress Celene rode at the Divine's side, her armor gleaming silver—but as they drew nearer Ellana realized Celene wore no mask. Her face was bare and pale, exposed.

Solas moved to Ellana's side, his hand brushing hers as he looked on at the approaching riders. Ellana could feel the weight of his presence in the back of her mind—powerful and brooding and deadly. "She has cleaned her armor," he observed.

"The Divine?" Ellana asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No," Solas said. "Celene."

"But she's not wearing her mask…" Ellana observed aloud. The riders below slowed and changed direction to make a wide detour around a harmless wisp. The humans shot the spirit wary glances and Ellana saw Cullen and the two Templars in the group grip their weapons.

"Indeed. Whatever they have come for, it is not apparently to play the Game." When Ellana shot him another sidelong look she realized with a jolt that he wasn't wearing the wolf headdress. She opened her mouth to comment on it but clamped it shut again as Deshanna called out to the approaching humans.

"Halt! What is your intention coming to us?" she shouted. "We seek only to leave and bury our dead in peace."

Cassandra ordered the group to stop, raising a hand. The horses whinnied and tossed their heads, snorting and stamping as they came to a stop several meters out—but well within the range for archers and magic. There was silence for several long beats, then Cassandra raised her voice with authority. "We have come to bid you farewell." She nodded in Ellana's direction and then, a little less deeply, toward Solas. "I also wished to express my gratitude to you, Solas, for your aid in last night's…" She made a face, wrinkling her nose. "Skirmish. I…we are all in your debt."

Ellana swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat. Her stomach twisted with nervousness. She wished she'd seen the fight and judged the odds Cassandra faced. Would all of them have been killed had Solas not intervened?

"I as well," Celene said suddenly, spurring her horse forward a few steps. Its bridle jangled and the beast shook its head as the empress stared down from her mount at the assembled elves, her gaze skipping toward somewhere deeper in the clan. Ellana could guess who she was searching for without having to check—Briala. When her eyes settled in that direction, Celene seemed to shudder, her hands tightening on the reins.

"It would seem I owe you my life, Dread Wolf," she said, tilting her head backward and narrowing her eyes. Inhaling sharply, she added, "In light of this, and in recognition of Most Holy's decree to reward you, Lady Lavellan as former Inquisitor, I have agreed to return the Dales to the elven people."

Ellana's mouth fell open with shock before she could stop herself, schooling the reaction and squaring her shoulders. Beside her, Solas' only reaction was stunned silence. The clan around her shuffled on their feet, shooting nervous or excited looks at one another. A few wore expressions bordering on hostile as they searched over the Divine's group, waiting for the inevitable betrayal. Humans had a long history of doing as much.

Celene cleared her throat and said, "I do have one small caveat," she said, a small, practiced smile on her lips.

Solas returned that smile with a nod. "Name your price, empress." Ellana kept her face impassive, though her heart was against her throat, pounding on her breastbone. She hoped— _prayed—_ she knew what Celene would ask for: Briala. If she asked for Solas to be imprisoned or killed in exchange for the Dales they'd be once more at a ridiculous stalemate.

Celene motioned at the clan. "I believe you have a hostage: the marquise. If I understand correctly, I am indebted to you for her life as well. If you would release her to me, I will abide by the Divine's order—though my people will require time to relocate from the Dales."

"Will a year suffice?" Ellana asked, resisting the desire to frown at how breathless and shocked her voice sounded.

"A year will suffice," Celene agreed with a significant nod.

"In that time we will continue to reclaim the land to the south," Solas said, arching an eyebrow. "Do you agree to these terms?"

Celene's lips curved in a slight smirk. "Do you agree to release the marquise?"

Solas turned slightly at the waist, as did Ellana to gaze back on Briala where she stood with her hands bound with Var and Abelas guarding her. "Do you wish to rejoin the empress, da'len?" Solas asked her.

Briala's eyes flashed as she stared at Solas and then, oddly, she glanced to Abelas. The former sentinel dipped his chin, his golden eyes solemn but with an unmistakable touch of warmth in their depths. Slowly, Briala faced the empress and then Solas as she said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Ellana blinked, surprised. Something had passed between these three—Abelas, Solas, and Briala. Whether it was gratitude that'd changed Briala or if she merely playacted it, Ellana couldn't tell, but a moment later Solas motioned at Abelas and said, "Release her."

Abelas and Var both reached for Briala, their hands glowing blue and the rogue relaxed, shoulders slumping as she rubbed at her wrists. Watching Solas, she trod forward, through the clan, who glared at her with lingering hostility. Celene edged her mount sideways and extended her hand down to help Briala up onto the horse's back.

"Briala," Solas called to her, a dry smile on his lips. When she peered at him from behind the empress, he said, "Please give my warmest regards to Mythal." Briala frowned at him and Celene's impassive expression flickered briefly with confusion before she schooled it again.

"Very well," Cassandra said. "Then it is settled at last." She twisted in the saddle to search for Varric—who was riding with Josephine. "Varric, if you would please…"

"Yes, Your Holiness," Varric said dryly as he squirmed his way off the mount. He reached for the saddlebags, but it was quite a stretch and after a few seconds a chuckling Josephine dug in the packs to help him. Eventually their efforts produced a rolled up parchment. From his own overcoat Varric produced a quill and a tiny inkwell.

"Always ready to take down world-changing details," Varric commented with a smirk as he unrolled the parchment over the grass. "Now," he said and clapped his meaty hands together. "What exactly do you want me to write?"

* * *

"She did not honor her first accord with me," Solas commented as their hart trotted over the plains, heading south for the eluvian. "I hardly expect this to be different."

Tucked in his surcoat was a signed copy of the treaty Varric had whipped up on the grass and Ellana sat close to him on the hart, nursing the ever-ravenous Sylvun in his sling. The baby had cried inconsolably when they left the Fade circle behind, his sensitivity hinting again that the tiny boy would one day be a powerful mage, in or out of the restored Fade.

"I agree," Ellana said with a sigh. "We will have to remain on our guard. I'm glad you thought to include that we will continue expanding during this first year."

Solas hummed in acknowledgement. "Regardless of whether Celene honors this arrangement, there will be endless work for us in the coming years."

The clan and the other scattered elves they'd brought with them were still somber from the recent betrayal, but Celene's gesture had been a solid consolation prize, lightening everyone's spirits with hope. If the humans could truly right the Broken Promise…perhaps anything could be possible.

"What happened between you and Briala?" she asked.

Chuckling, Solas clucked his tongue to urge the hart into a faster trot as they ascended the next hill. "Nothing, vhenan. I merely left her in Abelas' care and instructed him to tell her of his experience under Mythal's rule. She would never believe me, but Abelas' candor is without compare and I know she will be able to verify what he has told her of himself—namely that he was once Mythal's sentinel."

"Hmm," Ellana murmured, sounding skeptical. "Do you really think she can be trusted?"

Solas scoffed, laughing dryly. "I did not say _that."_

Ellana twisted slightly to peer back at him, her green eyes glinting with playfulness. "What machinations are you planning now, Dread Wolf?"

Leaning forward, Solas nuzzled her ear, inhaling her scent, the natural perfume of her skin, hair, and sweat intermixed now with the sweetness of milk and the smoky smell of the fire she'd slept beside. "I am hedging a bet, vhenan. Briala has chosen to forgive or overlook intolerable personal betrayals by the empress, but she could not bring herself to believe Celene was the best option for the People. I believe that even if she does not deem _me_ a good leader, she will come to see Mythal is no better."

"And how does that help us, emma lath?" Ellana asked.

"If I am not the leader she feels the People deserve, and Mythal proves no better, she may likely support _you._ Or she may rise to become a leader in her own right." _Felassan believed in her,_ he thought, pushing aside the nervous voice of self-doubt that rose within him when he worried he should have killed her.

"Or she could become a rival," Ellana murmured with a sigh.

"Of course," Solas replied with a nod, though Ellana couldn't see it facing forward. "There will inevitably be rivals and threats." They descended the hill and Solas spotted the copse of trees marking the eluvian. A few Dalish scouts from other clans—like those who'd been drawn in to serve Zevanni in her rebellious attack—patrolled around the edge of the trees. They waved to signal the way was clear as they spotted the hart and the rest of clan Lavellan rounding the hill.

"Yes," she agreed and Solas could hear the frown in her voice. "Like Mythal. She's still out there, somewhere."

"Undoubtedly, but let us not dwell on that." With one hand he checked behind him on the hart, ensuring Ellana's bow and arrow quiver were secured in place within easy reach should they be needed. The smooth wood and metal of the bow reminded him of its unique specifications as a conductor and enhancer of storm magic. It also reminded him of _why_ he'd given it to her in the first place.

As they approached the eluvian and slowed to wait for the rest of the clan, Solas brushed his lips against Ellana's ear again to murmur quietly to her. "When the clan has finished mourning, I wonder if we might perhaps find a moment of peace long enough that your Keeper could perform the handfast ceremony?"

He hesitated a beat as she twisted to meet his stare; her green eyes bright and a warm smile spreading over her lips. Then, returning her smile with one of his own, he added, "If you are still willing to do something as foolish as becoming the Dread Wolf's bondmate, of course. I daresay it will create an amusing double entendre out of many of the traditional Dalish expletives involving me."

Ellana laughed. "Dread Wolf take me."

Solas grinned. "Is that a yes, vhenan?"

Grabbing his surcoat with one arm, Ellana tugged him down for a kiss. Solas opened to it, tasting her and letting her taste him in return. Just as he was beginning to feel his body react, flushing with warmth and longing, she broke the kiss and gazed at him, her eyes crinkling with love. "Ar lath ma, vhenan," she whispered breathily. "Bellanaris."

Breathing deeply as affection swelled in his chest and set his throat tight and aching with emotion, Solas leaned into Ellana and wrapped one arm around her. His palm lay over Sylvun in his halla-skin sling, feeling their son's squirming as he sensed the nearby magic of the eluvian.

Awe and pride brought tears to Solas' eyes, pricking them. "I thought I would walk din'anshiral," he murmured, swallowing to try and ease the pain of emotion in his throat—the sweet burn of bittersweet joy. "I have never been happier to be proven wrong."

With a little whimper even as she smiled at him, Ellana clasped her hand over his, also feeling Sylvun through his sling. "Breath of life," she said, a tear streaking down her cheek. "He's been aptly named." She squeezed his hand tightly. "Because now you walk the vun'anshiral and you'll never be alone again, emma lath."

Solas kissed her, heedless of the tears leaking from his own eyes as her words filled his mind. _Vun'anshiral—journey to a place of life._

He vowed to himself he would do everything within his power to ensure it was a place brimming with _joy_ , for Ellana, Sylvun, and as many of the People as he could save.

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

"How strong do you think he will be?" Mahanon asked, observing father and son with a tender expression.

"There is no way for me to be certain," Solas admitted, still smiling and playing a sort of magic patty-cake with Sylvun. The baby's giggling made something bubble in his chest, warm and bright. In truth he had no desire to ferret out that bit of information just yet. Solas had no idea what signs to watch for in talented young children from Elvhenan, but Lyris and Mathrel did. They'd be able to tell him if Sylvun seemed exemplary or if magical presentation in the restored Fade at five months was nothing exceptional.

For now, he chose not to consider how his son would stack up in the magical hierarchy—because in this new world it shouldn't matter. No one would come and take Sylvun away, either to a Circle or to be trapped in servitude in either the upper, or lower, classes.

Pressing close to Sylvun, Solas nuzzled the baby and kissed his little forehead. Sylvun's soft hair brushed his lips. "Shall we find mamae?" he asked softly.

Sylvun reached out for his face, grabbing at his chin and giggling. "Bah," he said.


	52. Vun'anshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived (relatively) happily ever after!

Solas raised his hands to begin the cast, closing his eyes and reaching inward for his mana—and then froze as Mahanon shouted out to him, "Hahren! Venavis, just a moment, if you would…"

Relaxing again and with a slight frown belying his impatience, Solas watched as the Dalish First Fade-stepped toward the babbling river ahead of them, splashing as he reached the water. The shore was littered with rounded river stones in every shade of gray, red, brown, and white. River reeds and spindleweed grew along its edge; plump and healthy after the mild winter brought on by the restored Fade in the Emerald Graves. Mahanon crouched against the stones, heedless of the water rising around his legs as he did so, and began picking over the spindleweed stems.

 _We should have brought the hearthkeeper,_ Solas thought. _And Deshanna._ Both women would have leapt at the chance to collect the spindleweed as well, but unlike Mahanon they'd make an effort to harvest the plants at the root in the hopes of starting real agriculture. More and more elves filtered into the Emerald Graves every day and feeding them would be no small task, even with the power of the Fade at their disposal. The trouble was that living things could not be conjured from Fade ether. They _could_ be nurtured, however, with spirit magic. Solas and the other surviving Elvhen had already begun sharing what they knew of such spells while the various Keepers had started pooling knowledge as well.

Claiming their homeland was only the _first_ struggle of many to come.

Sylvun cooed and then made a spitting noise, drawing Solas out of his reverie with a smile. Solas wore his five-month old son in a carrier strapped to his chest. Sylvun faced his father's chest so he could rest his head there. His arms were free but his legs were wrapped inside the folds of fabric. He lifted his head from Solas' chest and gazed up at his father, his blue eyes wide and alert.

"Hello, Sylvun," Solas greeted him with a warm smile.

"Bah," Sylvun replied and grinned, showing his toothless mouth. Spittle dribbled as he blew a raspberry and pawed at Solas' tunic. "Pbbbfthh."

Still smiling, Solas tugged a handkerchief out of his belt and wiped briskly at the baby's mouth. "You're making a mess, da'fen."

Sylvun whimpered, protesting his father's efforts to clean his face, turning his head back and forth. "Baaaaaah!" he complained when Solas had finished, his little brow knitting in a glare.

"All right," Mahanon called from the river's edge, thrusting a fistful of spindleweed stems and leaves into the air. "I've got them." He rose to his feet and began tucking them inside his robes.

Solas craned his head upward, squinting his eyes at the sunlight through the thick canopy to gauge the time. A wisp darted by, playing in the swaying leaves far overhead. Watching it, Solas warned, "We have little time remaining. I had hoped to complete this before the ceremony tonight."

"There's hours yet before you'll be indisposed," Mahanon replied with a teasing laugh as he finished securing the spindleweed into his robes and Fade-stepped back to rejoin Solas on the riverbank.

Solas shot Mahanon a slight frown, feeling his ears burn slightly at the topic. Sometimes the clan was just a tad…uninhibited for him. Lavellan clan had a culture that was a strange mixture of pragmatism, tradition, and easygoingness that didn't quite match anything Solas had known in Elvhenan. The middle class village where he'd been raised had been steeped with tradition, ritual, and discipline, while the upper classes and the court of Arlathan had been all about intrigue and indulgence and etiquette.

With his handfast ceremony to Ellana only a few hours away, Solas expected he'd soon be getting an enormous dose of Lavellan clan's levity and celebration. Because Solas knew all too well how alcohol could fuel misadventures in the wake of a celebration, he'd set out with Mahanon to try and foolproof some of the land surrounding clan Lavellan's current encampment. He recalled very well how often couples had split off from the camp near Wycome when he'd first met with the clan the previous fall. Most of them were more than a little intoxicated and Solas expected there'd be a few accidents of one kind or another this night. Thus, he and Mahanon had set out to create a small stone wall along this riverbank to discourage drunken elves from slipping and falling into it. The Fade might render the People immortal from age and disease, but it could not prevent death by drowning or death by injury.

Mahanon pulled out one stalk of spindleweed and broke off a small section. "This stuff is great for teething," he commented. "Deya has been cranky lately and this is one of her favorites." Showing Solas the square he'd torn off, he waggled his eyebrows as he switched focus to Sylvun, who was watching his uncle with interest. "Do you want to gum this, da'len?" He mimed sucking and chewing on the spindleweed. "Mmmmm…Yummy."

Sylvun blew another raspberry and squirmed against Solas' chest, turning as much as the baby carrier allowed. He extended his little plump arms and hands out toward his uncle with a chortling laugh. Mahanon gave Sylvun the bit of spindleweed as Solas looked on, trying to determine if there was any way his son would be able to fit the square entirely into his mouth and choke on it. Mahanon usually judged such things accurately, having been a father himself, but Solas refused to let his guard down. But as Sylvun brought the spindleweed to his mouth and sucked on a corner, his little face warping expressively at the taste, Solas relaxed and let himself smile.

"You looked worried there, babae," Mahanon teased with a laugh.

"He has managed to fit surprisingly large items into his mouth before," Solas commented, a touch defensive around the more experienced father. "One cannot be too careful."

Mahanon laughed again. "Tell me about it. Once, Deya almost swallowed my pendant." Grasping the necklace he wore, Mahanon grimaced. "The thing just came off and it was in her mouth before I knew it. If Rinaya hadn't been nearby and noticed she could have choked."

"I am glad she was watching," Solas agreed with a nod. "A second set of eyes is always valuable."

"Is that why you brought me along?" Mahanon asked with a chuckle. "Because If I'm not mistaken, this is the sort of work you should designate to Abelas or myself."

"There is nothing unworthy in this for me," Solas said quickly, his voice stern.

Mahanon blinked, taken aback. "Ir abelas, if I offended hahren. I just thought such simple reshaping would not be worth your time—especially today."

Solas' shoulders slumped as he made an effort to explain his reaction. "Do not apologize, falon. I am the one who should be sorry for my shortness with you." Facing the river, he motioned toward the embankment as he went on. "In Elvhenan an Evanuris would never perform such a small reshaping, you are correct. But I have no desire to encourage that viewpoint to take root again. There should be no task considered too small or demeaning for myself. I have been deified before—I have no desire to experience such again."

Mahanon nodded slowly, a somber understanding glinting in his gaze. "I see what you mean—I think, anyway."

"Baaaaah!" Sylvun put in, pounding the square of spindleweed against Solas' tunic, leaving wet smears from both the plant and the baby's saliva.

"Patience, da'fen," Solas said, stroking his son's auburn hair with one hand while the other wiped at the mess Sylvun had made.

"Is he getting hungry?" Mahanon asked.

"Undoubtedly," Solas answered. Ashani and many others among the Dalish had commented frequently that Sylvun was already big for his age. In accordance with that, he was always hungry. "We must finish here and return."

"Abah-bah," Sylvun added, spitting as he gummed on the spindleweed again.

Envisioning the low wall Solas wanted to run along this riverbank, he raised one hand and reached with his incorporeal senses. The Fade connected with him, resonating somewhere deep within him. From the verdant earth along the riverbank, green mist coiled upward like smoke, drawn out like water wrung from a wet cloth. Clenching his fist, Solas motioned in a slow sweeping gesture, drawing the pale stone bricks from the Fade ether itself. The wall took shape, gleaming and shimmering as it solidified.

"Excellent work as always," Mahanon said. "And much faster than constructing a wooden railing."

"Ahhh!" Sylvun said and grunted, kicking and squirming against Solas' chest. He giggled, grinning up at his father. As Sylvun's little fists gripped Solas' tunic, he felt his skin tingle warm with the pleasant caress of magic. Sylvun was already beginning to express magic, despite not yet being six months old.

"Very good, Sylvun," Solas told the baby, smiling down at him. He took one of Sylvun's hands into his own and let a little spirit magic light up his palm so his son could feel and see it.

Sylvun let out an excited shriek, squealing and squirming with delight. He hadn't learned to mimic the brief expression of magic yet, but Solas knew it wouldn't take long before his son would be accidentally conjuring whatever his natural magical affinity was. If he took after Solas it'd be winter, and if he followed Ellana's affinity it'd be storm.

"How strong do you think he will be?" Mahanon asked, observing father and son with a tender expression.

"There is no way for me to be certain," Solas admitted, still smiling and playing a sort of magic patty-cake with Sylvun. The baby's giggling made something bubble in his chest, warm and bright. In truth he had no desire to ferret out that bit of information just yet. Solas had no idea what signs to watch for in talented young children from Elvhenan, but Lyris and Mathrel did. They'd be able to tell him if Sylvun seemed exemplary or if magical presentation in the restored Fade at five months was nothing exceptional.

For now, he chose not to consider how his son would stack up in the magical hierarchy—because in this new world it shouldn't matter. No one would come and take Sylvun away, either to a Circle or to be trapped in servitude in either the upper, or lower, classes.

Pressing close to Sylvun, Solas nuzzled the baby and kissed his little forehead. Sylvun's soft hair brushed his lips. "Shall we find mamae?" he asked softly.

Sylvun reached out for his face, grabbing at his chin and giggling. "Bah," he said.

* * *

Wisps darted about the canopy, flitting in and out of the leaves. It was dusk, with the last rays of golden sunshine streaming in through the trees. Curious wisps darted in and out of the sunbeams, glimmering green-white as they caught the light. Solas watched them at play, as innocent and joyful as Sylvun, and smiled at the sight—something he had not thought he would see again without the utter destruction of Thedas.

Lavellan clan and a few other representatives from other clans and a number of Elvhen were gathered in the clearing beneath one of the countless enormous trees in the Emerald Graves. Dark gray rock formations were scattered about the edge of the clearing to the east. The People had painted it with runes that drew energy from the Fade to create a pristine, soft white glow as the darkness began to gather with the setting sun. Orbs of veilfire glowed overhead as well, hovering like enormous fireflies.

The People waited in clumps, chattering animatedly. Everywhere Solas looked, he saw smiles. Even Lerand and his father seemed bright where they worked with the hearth keeper over the bonfire, preparing the celebratory meal to come. Lanya, the Elvhen artist Solas had long been acquainted with and used as a spy in the winter palace a year ago, was with them as well, teaching them simple food enchantments.

"Anxious, falon?" Mathrel asked from just behind him.

Solas pivoted slightly to cast a quick glance at the arcane warrior, one brow arched. Mathrel stood beside Lyris, both of them out of their armor for once. Abelas stood a bit further back from the two arcane warriors, his eyes scanning the crowd as if for danger. Even now the former sentinel wouldn't relax. The trio of Elvhen warriors looked markedly diminished in nothing but tunics and breeches.

"And why would I be anxious?" Solas asked.

"Stage fright," Mathrel suggested with a shrug. "You could forget your lines. Wouldn't that be embarrassing?"

It _had_ been a challenge working out just what he and Ellana would say at this handfast ceremony. Normally the Keeper, who stood just a few meters away talking with her brother, Negan, would bless the union and the couple would make vows to Sylaise. But Solas found no value in such a vow, considering he had met the actual Evanuris and knew her to have been somewhat of a pansexual hedonist who rarely spent a night with _just_ her husband's company. She _did_ have countless children, however, so the Dalish had remembered her correctly in that aspect as a patron of childbirth. Keeper Deshanna and Ellana had had to work out a brand new tradition to accommodate Solas—and hopefully future generations as the People accepted the truth about their false-gods.

"After the great deal of time ma vhenan and I spent on these vows, I doubt I will _ever_ forget them," Solas commented with a chuckle.

Lyris shifted from one foot to the other, her lips quirking and her jaw clenching. In the changing light of dusk she looked surprisingly ashen. Noticing her, Solas frowned. "Are you well?"

"Oh no," Mathrel said, reaching for her, but Lyris pulled away from him, stepping back toward the tree behind them. She stumbled over the uneven ground and roots, but Abelas caught and steadied her. "Leave her be," Mathrel called to Abelas. "She's—"

Before he could say more, Lyris pushed Abelas away and bent double, gagging as she vomited onto the ferns between the tree roots. With a snarl of disgust over his face, Abelas quickly backpedaled to be clear of any spatter.

Solas glanced to Mathrel, flashing a look of amusement intermixed with suspicion. "Am I correct in guessing that congratulations may be in order for you both?" With the Fade restored here there were no illnesses to cause such sickness, and unless Lyris was already imbibing in too much alcohol or eating questionable foods or herbs, he could think of no other explanation other than…

Mathrel's face lit up with a broad smile. "Yes." He watched over his shoulder, his expression growing tender as Lyris returned, wiping her mouth and grimacing even as her eyes softened with love. Mathrel extended his hand out and Lyris took it, squeezing.

"Congratulations. I wish you good health and a perfect child," Solas said, dipping his head in an exaggerated nod. "I know how dearly you both have longed for this moment." He paused a moment then and said, "Perhaps you would like some mint, Lyris?"

Lyris laughed. "Falon, I thought you'd never ask." As Solas dug into a small pouch at his waist to produce the mint leaf, Lyris added, "I am glad we achieved some measure of peace as quickly as we did. Sylvun is such a joy that I've been worried I would take leave of my senses and abduct him."

"That is not funny," Abelas grumbled with a scowl.

Solas chuckled, shaking his head as he passed Lyris the mint leaf.

Popping the mint into her mouth, Lyris scoffed good-naturedly at the former sentinel. "Lana's human friends are right about you being aptly named."

"The term they used was killjoy," Mathrel put in. "And ma vhenan is correct that it is accurate."

"My name _is_ Abelas," Abelas reminded them sourly…though his lips quirked upward at the edge slightly.

"Then we will just have to select you a new name, won't we?" Solas suggested, his smile going lopsided.

"In time," Abelas hedged. "I will do so."

A cheer went up through the crowd and Solas turned, tensing and moving into position in front of the tree to see around the throng. The clan let out throaty calls, ululations that were musical and wild at once. Peeking through the aisle the clan created, Solas saw a group of elves approaching through the soft green-white light of the glade.

Mahanon was at the lead, regal in his Keeper robes. The clan reached out to touch him as he passed, their faces warm with affection for the young man who would someday lead their clan. Mahanon's eyes locked with Solas and he grinned as he stepped off to one side to stand beside Deshanna in presiding over the ceremony. Behind Mahanon was Ashani, her tunic clinking with beads as she followed after her son, her face beaming with pride. Behind her was Ellana approaching with Sylvun in her arms.

Solas' gaze swept over her, his heart seeming to swell in his chest. She wore a dress made of halla leather, as white and pristine as snow with a tiara of white flowers. At her throat, Solas saw the stormheart arrowhead he'd given her that night well over a year ago—the night they'd most likely inadvertently conceived Sylvun. He felt his cheeks heat with the reminder. Sylvun in her arms wore fennec fox fur and had both chubby little arms around Ellana's neck, holding tightly to her.

"Vhenan," Solas greeted her, leaning close to touch his forehead to hers. Ellana's eyes glimmered as she smiled at him.

Sylvun squealed and swatted at Solas' jaw. "Bah! Mah, bah!"

"Aneth ara, ma ishalen," Solas greeted Sylvun next, kissing the baby's forehead.

"Can you say hello to babae?" Ellana coaxed, shucking under Sylvun's chin. He giggled and squirmed as far away from her as he could manage.

"Ashani," Deshanna called gently, motioning to Ellana's mother and indicating Sylvun. "If you would take him for a moment…"

Ashani nodded and stepped forward, extending her arms for Sylvun. Ellana passed the baby to her, ruffling his auburn hair affectionately. Sylvun whimpered slightly as he settled into his grandmother's arms, but Ashani quieted him with a plush stuffed animal—a wolf. She stepped back to take a position beside Mahanon, representing Ellana's family in the ceremony just as Solas' Elvhen trio—Abelas, Lyris, and Mathrel—did for him. Sylvun gummed the wolf plush and kneaded it with his little fists as Deshanna began the ceremony. Solas could tell by the way his son's eyelids were beginning to droop that he would soon fall asleep, perhaps even for the duration of the night.

"Welcome Lavellan," Deshanna began, raising both arms up in a friendly gesture like an embrace aimed at the whole group. "Aneth ara my family, and andaran atish'an fellow members of the People. Tonight we are gathered here in recognition of love, of commitment, and of devotion as our daughter Ellana joins her life with another of the People." She paused a moment, lowering her hands to her side and shooting Solas a wry smile. "Typically I would now proclaim him to be a son of Lavellan, but I suspect no one clan can claim a man as notable as Solas."

Solas nodded to her, restraining the desire to smirk knowingly at her. This, as with the vows, had been a tricky thing to work out. No one knew exactly how it'd be received if Deshanna overtly used Solas' title. The Dalish had accepted him as a leader for his enormous power, but the idea of one of their own taking the Dread Wolf as a life partner might still be…unsettling. It was easier all around if they deliberately left Solas' title out and focused on the fact that they were two people, celebrating their handfast.

Yet, now, it seemed even this slight reminder of who and what Solas truly was had inspired the group. The people gathered behind them cheered at the Keeper's comment and some of them murmured Solas' Evanuris name under their breath. Perhaps clan Lavellan, at least, was ready to completely forget that the Dread Wolf had been a malevolent, evil god.

Deshanna's eyes swept over the crowd, assessing them with an amused look. Solas kept his attention fixed on Ellana's face, staring into her eyes as his heart pounded in his ears as Deshanna pulled the silken fabric for the ritual handfast from its spot tied around her waist. Stepping closer to Solas and Ellana, she took their clasped hands by the wrists and began to wind the fabric over their hands. She extended it up their forearms on both sides, then wound it back to meet in the middle and tied it tightly in a knot.

As Deshanna moved back a step, her smile warm and encouraging, she said, "Ellana, da'len, do you consent to join with this man?"

"I do," Ellana answered, her smile beaming. Her hand squeezed his beneath the knotted silken fabric. "I vow in the name of the People and our son to bind everything I am in mind, body, and spirit to you, emma lath." Her eyes glistened in the ghostly veilfire orbs and the glowing runes on the rocks. "To guide you and to love you whatever may come against us. I vow to journey at your side and share every joy and grief, every victory and defeat as we walk the vun'anshiral. Together, bellanaris."

Solas swallowed, struggling to hold back the prick of emotional tears threatening in his eyes. He saw moisture in Ellana's gaze as well and when she blinked, a tear spilled out and rolled down her cheek. So focused on Ellana, Solas almost missed Deshanna addressing him next, prompting him to consent to the joining as well.

"Solas, hahren, do you consent to join with this woman?"

With a quick dip of his chin, Solas nodded as he said, "I do," and launched into his own vows. "I vow in the name of the People and our son to bind everything that I am in mind, body, and spirit to you, ma vhenan." He paused a moment, inhaling swiftly as he spoke his slightly altered version: "I promise to protect you, to listen and love you in whatever trials may come against us. I vow to journey at your side and share every joy and grief, every victory and defeat. We will walk the vun'anshiral together, bellanaris."

A few people in the crowd let out little whoops and whistles, recognizing that this concluded the majority of the handfast and celebration was imminent, but Solas had eyes only for Ellana. Deshanna stepped forward again, gripping the silken fabric with its knot with both hands, one above and the other below. "Then I bestow my blessing and the blessing of clan Lavellan on this bond. May your joy be eternal and your losses few. May you bless the clan—and the People—with healthy children who will create a brighter future for us all. May this union endure eternal with the blessing of the People."

Solas felt his skin tingle as Deshanna summoned spirit magic, her palms glowing overtop of theirs in a deep green. The silk flushed warm against his skin and then Deshanna removed her hands and the fabric unraveled, letting her pull it free. The Keeper produced a knife that glinted in the whitish light of the runes and quickly cut the fabric in half at the middle. She tucked the first half over Ellana's head and then did the same with the remainder for Solas. Now the pale silk hung about their necks like a pair of scarfs, to be sewn later into clothing, weapons, or tools in remembrance.

Now the crowd quieted with respect, waiting for the last step of the handfast ceremony. With his heart pressing against his breastbone, Solas edged closer to Ellana, still clasping her hand in his as they leaned into one another. Their foreheads touched first and then their noses as they closed the gap for a deep kiss. Her lips were warm and soft, her taste sweet and inviting, but Solas kept his passion tabled for now and broke the kiss after a few heartbeats, though he didn't draw away. Her breath puffed against his cheeks, carrying a minty smell that made his stomach flutter with longing.

Deshanna raised her hands high then and shouted, "Nehn shiral," she proclaimed. _Joyful journey._ The phrase acted as a formal goodbye, a signal to end the handfast ceremony and begin of the celebration. The crowd crowed and cheered, clapping their hands and repeating the words back to the Keeper, the sound echoing from the underside of the canopy and off the rocks. The wisps thrummed and buzzed, reacting to the excitement.

Solas stroked Ellana's cheek tenderly, still leaning close to her. The noise of the clan and everyone else in the crowd seemed distant and faraway. "Ar lath ma," he whispered to her. "Bellanaris."

"Bellanaris," she agreed, her lips quivering slightly. "Ma vhenan."

* * *

Ellana sat beneath the light runes on a halla skin blanket beside Solas as well-wishers and gift-givers funneled by, many of them more than a little tipsy from wine. Having sipped some of it herself, Ellana had discovered someone had been enchanting it—a recent but popular trick the Dalish had picked up from the scattered Elvhen survivors among them. The fuzzy, warm pulse of elation still flowed through her, making her giggle at the slightest provocation.

Negan and some of the others from Lavellan clan had begun singing and playing the few musical instruments they owned and this inspired the wisps in attendance to harmonize with them. The air was filled with sound, achingly beautiful and breathtaking, sweeter than the drill of crickets, or the song of birds and frogs. Looking at Solas beside her, seeing his smiling face and deep blue eyes in the soft light from the runes, Ellana felt her heart ache with joy. This hauntingly beautiful music by the wisps was an unexpected boon she and the People had discovered—or rediscovered in the case of the Elvhen—about the restored Fade.

Sylvun lay across her lap, sleeping after nursing. The music seemed to work as a lullaby for him and all of the other small children present. Deya was asleep as well where she sat with Rinaya, Mahanon, and Ellana's mother a few meters away. Despite the fact that Sylvun appeared to be sleeping, his little hand was at Ellana's waist, picking idly at the pouches she wore at her belt even in the decorative white halla skin dress.

Having eaten their fill of august ram meat from the bonfire, most of the clan had fallen to socializing in one way or another. Groups chatted or played casting games with veilfire, a new pastime that'd been introduced by the Elvhen. Others danced or sang, moving in circles around the bonfire, their shadows flickering in the orange light. More than a few had peeled away into the darkness, seeking some measure of privacy. One such couple who'd vanished in that way were Lyris and Mathrel, much to Ellana's amusement.

When it seemed they'd received the last well-wisher and gift-giver, Ellana leaned close to Solas—moving slow and with care to avoid disturbing the mostly sleeping Sylvun in her lap—and whispered in his ear. "How long do you wish to stay, emma lath?"

Solas turned his face to hers, a smile spreading over his lush lips and a hungry look in his blue eyes. Over the months since Celene had granted them the Dales their lives had been full to the brim with responsibilities for the People as they expanded the restored Fade and dealt with hostile or stubborn Orlesians who refused to believe they'd be evicted from their lands come the following spring. Celene had so far held up her proclamation, though it was immensely unpopular, and Briala had made several visits to Halamshiral to pass along information or warnings to Ellana and Solas. Combined with raising Sylvun, it all amounted to very little time for romance or physical intimacy—outside their dreams, anyway.

Instead of answering her aloud, Solas kissed her, conveying his eagerness and hunger clearly enough with the way he tasted her mouth through her parted lips and laid a palm over her cheek. His breath was hot and fast as Ellana opened more to the kiss, sucking at his lower lip and then sparring with his tongue. He tasted of a delicious mixture of mint leaves and wine, making her head spin and something bubble in her chest. Probably more laughter brought on by the remnants of the wine enchantment.

And then, suddenly, Ellana heard a high-pitched chiming and felt a sort of ripple through her middle. Breaking the kiss even as she was still panting from the rush of anticipation and longing, she fumbled at her waist, her brow creasing with a frown.

"Vhenan?" Solas asked, alarm coloring his voice.

Sylvun stirred with a baby grunt and Ellana saw his chubby little hand withdraw from the pouch at her waist that contained the sending crystal from Dorian. "Sylvun, you little scoundrel," she admonished playfully. Clucking her tongue, she dug the crystal out of his little clenched fist and found it had lit up in white, flashing in rhythm with the chimes.

"Let me take him," Solas said and reached for the baby.

Sylvun sleepily whimpered as he realized he was being pulled from his mother's lap, but when he registered Solas he grinned and let out a groggy giggle. "Bah," he babbled.

Pulling out the crystal, Ellana clutched it in her fist and the chiming stopped as, a second later, Dorian's voice rang out instead. "Lana? Ellana, old girl, are you there?"

Casting Solas a sheepish look, Ellana answered, "Yes, Dorian, I'm here." Pausing a moment as she bit her lip, Ellana asked, "Is something wrong?"

The moment of silence stretched and Ellana frowned, sneaking a quick glance at Solas to gauge his reaction and finding him distracted with tickling Sylvun. The baby giggled and squirmed, his peals of high-pitched laughter drawing a wide grin from Solas. How miraculous and yet simultaneously natural it was to watch him playing with their son. The sight of it warmed her heart with a bittersweet ache, considering how close they'd come to never sharing this joy. If Ellana had been consumed by the Anchor, or refused to join him after learning his true identity, or been killed in one of the assassination attempts on them…

"What is that?" Dorian's tinny voice called out over the crystal. "Are you all right, Lana? Are you under attack?"

Blinking with surprise, Ellana shook her head, though of course Dorian would never see it. "No, Dorian, everything's fine here. That's just Sylvun you're hearing."

"Oh," Dorian said, a note of surprise in his voice. "Well, it sounds as though someone's being murdered over the crystal. Now, why was it you called me, love?"

"I called you?" Ellana asked, chuckling as she arched an eyebrow in Solas' direction.

This time Solas met her gaze, still smiling from playing with Sylvun. "I believe it was Sylvun who activated the crystal."

"Oh," Ellana said and laughed. "Did you hear that Dorian? Sylvun called you."

"Well," Dorian said with a sniff. "The lad has good taste then, I suppose. Though it seems he's already following in his father's footsteps, what with calling me and then cutting it off. Not even a year old and pranking me."

Ellana scoffed. "Really, Dorian. It was an accident. If he could speak he'd apologize for interrupting you."

Solas shot the crystal clutched in Ellana's hand a withering look but said nothing, turning his attention back to the baby. He conjured a tiny veilfire orb in his palm and held it out for Sylvun, grinning as their son batted at it only to have his hand pass through it. Sylvun's eyes went wide, his mouth ajar, and then he broke out into a toothless grin and giggled again.

Dorian had fallen silent a moment and then said, "While I have you here, Lana—"

A deep, rumbling voice cut in over the crystal. "Aren't you going to tell her I'm here?"

"Iron Bull?" Ellana asked and laughed. "How are you?"

"Good, Boss," he replied, sounding happy. "Dorian and a few of his buddies in the Magisterium hired the Chargers as bodyguards. He's working his ass off trying to change this place, you know."

Watching Solas, who seemed deaf to the conversation as he continued entertaining Sylvun with simple magic tricks, Ellana said, "I'm pleased to hear that. I wish you both the best."

"Oh, he's already got that," Iron Bull quipped with a low, sensual chuckle.

Dorian scoffed and Ellana heard the clap of flesh on flesh as Dorian likely swatted Iron Bull playfully. "Don't be so sure, you horned giant."

"I think you mean _horny_ giant," Iron Bull retorted, eliciting laughter from Dorian in the background.

Ellana clasped a hand over her lips as she felt her cheeks flare with heat.

Proving he'd in fact been paying perfect attention, Solas turned his head toward the crystal and spoke at it in a louder than necessary voice, "Perhaps you should leave the two of them, vhenan. It is late and we must be getting Sylvun to bed."

"Yes," Ellana agreed, still blushing. "Solas is right, but it was a pleasure talking with you both. We'll have to do this again soon."

"For once I agree with Solas too," Iron Bull said, voice still husky. "I have to get Dorian to bed, if you know what I mean."

Solas rolled his eyes and Dorian protested in the background, though his voice had an edge of humor, as though holding back laughter. "Have you no shame?"

"Nope," Iron Bull replied and then he said, "It was nice talking with you, Boss. Tell the kiddie I said hi."

"I will, Bull," Ellana said. The crystal's light faded then, winking out. Tucking it back into the leather pouch at her waist, Ellana saw Solas' gaze on her, warm and tender—but with a glint of hunger still. Sylvun was cuddled in his lap, fast falling asleep even as one chubby fist toyed with his father's tunic sleeve. Spotting Rinaya, Mahanon, and her mother still sitting nearby with Deya, Ellana asked, "Shall we let ba'isamalin, ma'isamalin, and mamaela take da'fen while we retire, emma lath?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.

Smiling, Solas leaned close and kissed her, tender and deep. When he broke the kiss he murmured, "I suppose I can be convinced to relinquish ma ishalen for a time." He paused, the glimmer of smoldering heat in his eyes intensifying. "But only for you."

Laughing softly, Ellana kissed him quickly, then got to her feet and watched as Solas did the same, though with greater care as he held Sylvun. She followed him over to her mother, Rinaya, and Mahanon, who took sleepy little Sylvun with mischievous smiles spreading over their lips.

"Off to make more children for the People?" Mahanon asked with a smirk and a wink.

"You first," Ellana challenged him, chuckling while Solas ignored the banter and kissed Sylvun's forehead, bidding him goodbye for the night in his grandmother's arms.

"In due time, asamalin," Mahanon said, grinning. "Then you and Solas can be our babysitters."

With Sylvun safe they headed out into the darkness, circumnavigating the bonfire. Deshanna and a few other members of the clan let out cheers of encouragement as they passed. Milky moonlight streamed in through the canopy, and the whispery humming of wisps filled the air as they walked up the trampled path, hand-in-hand. They'd selected this spot because of its nearness to a sizable chateau that'd been taken peacefully in the winter. Hundreds of elves had stayed in it during those cold winter months, including Ellana whenever she and Solas hadn't been restoring the Fade.

As they passed through the iron wrought gates encircling the chateau, Ellana heard moans through the dark. Glancing off the path to the gardens, which had been left to grow wild and untamed all year, she saw a couple seated together on a decorative stone bench, clearly engaged in lovemaking.

Blushing, she turned back to the path and giggled. "I think Han is right that a lot of children will be made tonight."

Casting a swift look in that direction, Solas slowed, brow knitting a moment before a smirk twisted his lips and he turned away. "Perhaps I have spent too long as Fen'Harel in recent days as I cannot help but worry how we will feed so many new mouths."

She nodded, sobering at the reminder before shrugging and squeezing his hand. "Well, no one has starved yet."

"Nor do I intend to allow that to happen," Solas murmured, the crease between his eyebrows forming again. Clearly his mind was on the challenges that lay ahead for the People.

Determined to rectify that, Ellana pivoted to step into his path, stopping their forward progress as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "You think too much, emma lath. Tonight is for joy." She lifted onto her tiptoes to kiss him and Solas ducked down to meet her halfway.

Solas pressed closer, one hand snaking around her waist and falling to her rump while the other trailed up her arm. His fingers slowed as they went, caressing as he reached her shoulder and slid along her collarbone. Ellana shivered, a warm chill passing through her. When his fingers met with the strap of the stormheart arrowhead he'd given her over a year ago back in Skyhold, she felt the tingle of magic pass over her anew.

Breaking the kiss, Solas peered down at her with an expression that was both surprised and amused. His fingers followed the strap to the arrowhead itself, the magic coming alive at his touch and distracting her with the pleasurable sensation. "Did you intend us to be among the couples making children tonight?" he asked, arching his brow.

She grinned, coy and playful as she lifted one hand and trailed her fingers over his jaw. "I had planned to take it off or ask you to change the enchantment."

The _but_ in her voice was obvious and Solas chuckled. "Is that doubt I hear?"

She cocked her head slightly, smiling at the teasing lilt of his tone. "I will yield to your desires on this topic."

"And what if I were to say I did not want any more children?" Solas asked her quietly.

Surprised by the question, Ellana frowned, bemused. From the very start, despite the surprise of Sylvun's conception, Solas had been a doting father. Ellana had never considered he might _not_ want to have additional children, considering how greatly he seemed to enjoy his first. Solas tended to take Sylvun with him everywhere, his only limitation was that the baby required frequent nursing and that was the one thing his father could not provide. If Solas could have nursed Sylviun, Ellana half-expected he'd have absconded with their son from the start. The growing crowds in the Dales had never seemed to agree with Solas, who preferred solitude or small groups. Ellana could never seem to escape communal living comparatively.

The glint of warmth in Solas' eyes caught her attention then and she realized the question must be more playful than serious. She laid her hands on his chest, slowly rubbing upward toward the exposed skin around his neck. "I would ask you to reconsider," she answered in a sultry whisper. With one arm rising up to slip around his neck, she eased him closer to her and stood on tiptoe to better match his height. She nuzzled his jawline, just to the right of his chin. "Because it would be a travesty for Sylvun to be an only-child."

"But I was an only-child," Solas reasoned in a deep, husky voice. He tilted his head, leaning into her touch, his breath puffing against her ear faster now. "You will have to be more convincing than that, vhenan."

She nipped at his jaw and then transitioned to his ear, using her lips to caress it. Solas shuddered, his breath hitching in his throat as she whispered, "Because you are a wonderful father." She nibbled down to his neck; relishing the feel of the dimpled gooseflesh she felt erupting all over his skin.

Breaking off, she pulled back enough to meet his eye with a sultry smile as she added, "And because we should have at least one child now that we're truly bonded, don't you think? We have to prove once and for all that my former wandering Fade-expert is the man bedding me and fathering my children. Aside from Sylvun, of course, who is _clearly_ Commander Cullen's get."

Solas laughed, shaking his head. A moment later he pressed close and kissed her, fierce and passionate. Ellana curled her body against his, feeling the hard lump of his arousal beneath his breeches pressed against her navel. Breathy and flushed with the heat of longing, she tried to keep the kiss going even after Solas withdrew and touched his forehead to hers to say, "When you put it that way, I suppose you are correct. We must keep up with appearances, after all."

"As Lady Vivienne would say," Ellana murmured with a snort.

"Indeed," Solas agreed, his eyes skipping over her had gone black as the pupils expanded. His fingers slid along the strap of the arrowhead necklace and clasped where it was secured. "But perhaps we might give Sylvun some time to grow, first?"

Ellana pressed her lips to the base of his throat, sighing at the rich scent of his skin, the male musk. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

She felt Solas remove the necklace and pull gently away, tucking it into a pocket. Away from her it should have no effect on their fertility as Solas was not the one who wore a charm to ward against conception. Solas' hands slid over her cheeks and Ellana let him tilt her head back to kiss her, long and tender, stoking the gradually building coals of desire deep within her.

Then, from in the shadows of the garden, the couple currently engrossed in lovemaking began to grow louder as one or both reached the crest of pleasure. Red-faced at the inadvertent breech of privacy, both Ellana and Solas broke their kiss, smirking at one another over the sounds. Solas murmured, "Perhaps we should find a more…private location?"

"Your wish is my command, emma lath," she replied with a knowing grin.

* * *

They found the villa's master bedroom unoccupied and clean, having been cared for by members of clan Lavellan and others in rotating shifts. Someday, when they had enough Dreamers and weren't occupied with more important tasks like constructing a defensive perimeter around the Dales, the villa would be reshaped to better suit elven tastes. For now it was still Orlesian, decadent and ornate with marble floors and deep blue carpets and drapes. Light streamed in from the moon overhead, tinged with green and pink, the colors of the restored Fade. The bed was enormous, easily big enough for four elves to share with room to spare.

Solas led her to it, his hand clasped over hers as it had been during the ceremony. When Ellana squeezed it Solas rounded to face her, finding her smiling tenderly. He returned it, feeling desire coiling within, the delicious ache of anticipation. Stepping close, he brushed his lips over hers and then slid teasingly along her jaw toward her ear. Ellana curled into him, her breath picking up. He could almost feel her pulse pounding, just beneath his lips.

"Falon'saota," he whispered in her ear. It was the term for bondmate, for husband and wife. She shivered, caressing her hands up his chest as she nuzzled his jawline in turn. Solas relished the warm thrill that raced through him as he felt her hot breath on his earlobe.

"Mmm," she purred. "I could get used to being called that." She repeated it, seeming to taste the term as she replied it back. "Falon'saota."

He moved to touch his lips along her jaw and to her cheek, returning to her lips to kiss her with all the eagerness twining inside him. Ellana returned it, opening to him, tasting him as he did the same to her. One hand slid around her waist, dropping low to press her tighter against him, craving friction against his already hard length.

One of her hands slid beneath his tunic, the touch eliciting a small, sharp breath in at the slight chill of it. She made a noise of amusement against his lips, apparently satisfied at his reaction. Two could play at such a game, and he had many years of experience giving him an advantage.

Without breaking the heated kiss, Solas slipped his own hand low to where her white halla dress ended in a frill of decorating embroidery and beading. Fingers inched beneath the hem and roved up to her hips, taking the fabric with it. The beads tinkled, musical as water, and Ellana moaned against his lips as he trailed his fingernails up the inside of her thigh. She shivered body-wide and he felt the dimpling of gooseflesh at her thigh.

When he caressed upward, brushing past her hipbone, he realized she wore no undergarments, only smooth, naked skin like silk that begged for his touch. He traced higher, teasingly delicate, over her ribs one nub at a time, then gently cupped the bottom of her breast only to find it naked as well. He made a low noise of appreciation in his throat and, unable to help himself, palmed the full breast.

She broke the kiss, grabbing at his hand and smirking at him in the dimness of the bedroom as she shook her head and clucked her tongue in reprimand. "You know better than to—"

He chuckled, cutting her off as he dropped his hand back to her waist in surrender. "I know better," he agreed, voice low and husky. She was still lactating and things could quickly get messy if he was careless, but it was difficult not to be fascinated—and aroused—by this change to her body that he had yet to grow accustomed to.

"Good," she said, grinning. Her hands gripped his length through his breeches and Solas gasped before swallowing the sound and pressing close for another long, passionate kiss. When he broke it he nipped and kissed at her throat. She moaned, her head falling back to give him better access. Her hands, still on his manhood, rubbed along his underside, sending waves of heat through him at the friction.

When she continued the rapid motions over him and he felt the sparking tingle of magic wash through him, abruptly pushing him dangerously close to release, he gasped out, "And _you_ should know better…" Her hands on him stilled, but the magic continued to flow and Solas shuddered, a low moan rising from his throat. Speaking into the crook of her neck, Solas rasped, "You have been practicing."

"I have been practicing," she agreed, nipping at his earlobe. For months now Solas had been teaching her in the dreaming how to incorporate magic into the carnal act, a delight he had not been able to experience or share with a partner since the fall of Elvhenan. Her inexperience in magic had made her a slow learner, but the journey and exploration of teaching her was as erotic—or possibly more so—than participating in it.

Still, he would of course have to show her how a true master did it.

Crushing his lips to hers, Solas moved his hand under her dress to brush his fingertips down the silken length of her belly, summoning spirit magic as he went and shaping it with his will into pure desire. She shook as it sank into her skin and moaned loudly as his hand brushed over her slick folds.

"Fenedhis," she cursed between ragged breaths and sloppy kisses.

Solas chuckled, low with satisfaction and broke the kiss to look at her, grinning with triumph. "Is something the matter, vhenan?"

"No," she said, panting breathily. "Everything's perfect…except…" She laughed and tugged at his breeches with fresh urgency, freeing him as he steered her toward the bed. He had to shuffle awkwardly to kick the breeches aside, distracted as he was with shaping the magic over her skin. The kiss broke and Ellana reached for his tunic, trying to pull it off him. Solas helped her, ending the flow of magic to toss the offending garment behind him before turning to help her do the same—only to find she had already shimmied out of the dress and tossed it at the foot of the bed.

"Ever impatient," he teased her, eyes wandering over her with appreciation. Anticipation churned his stomach and set his erection aching, pulsing with every beat of his pounding heart.

She pressed close, eyes hungry, kissing him quickly and then pulling back before he'd had a chance to drink his fill. Hooking a leg around his thighs, she fell backward onto the bed and Solas let her take him with her.

Perched over her, Solas nuzzled her neck, trailing kisses downward. Ellana's breath puffed against his scalp, her hands wove around his waist and gripped at his back. Her back arched, her hips tilting to move against his tip, inviting and teasing him with her warmth. Though there was no magic in what she did, Solas groaned with longing, feeling the slick heat tempting him.

Rather than enter her just yet, he continued kissing his way down from her throat, along her shoulder and collarbone, and then to her breast. He traced it with his tongue, delighting in the fullness of it, soft and supple and smelling sweet like her milk. Her hands dug into the muscles down his back, a noise like a cat's purr trilling from her as he brushed his lips and then his tongue teasingly over her hardened nipple.

Gripping his hips with her thighs, Ellana tried to sit up and Solas curled his arm under her back, supporting her as she moved into his lap and lunged to meet his lips in a ravenous kiss. The heat of her entrance as she took him inside her set him gasping against her mouth. He heard her throaty laugh as she began to rock over his length and gnashed his teeth as pleasure spread out through him with each movement. Holding her hips with one hand and using the other to help her stay upright on his lap, Solas thrust with her, staying deep to rub over her just right. He watched her face as her eyelids fluttered and her plump lips parted to moan.

"Solas," she said, breathing his name. Her lips were at his chin, her hips grinding over him. Feeling her slick walls gripping him, moving with increasing speed and urgency, Solas' thoughts fragmented and scattered. Grunting with effort, he focused on holding back, on not losing control. His fingers gripped her hips, holding her down against him and guiding her while with the other hand he stroked low on her belly, conjuring magic.

Her breath caught, staggered as the magic sank into her. She cursed and then said something that might've been his name and those sounds of bliss threatened to undo him. Fighting to concentrate, to keep himself from going over the edge, Solas' fingers moved lower to rub between her thighs, at her most sensitive spot with a flick of the same magic.

She gasped, bucking over him, her fingers digging into his shoulders with a bruising grip. Her hips moved over him faster, wild and wanton, and Solas felt the hot coil of pleasure inside him ballooning, racing toward the precipice.

He moaned her name through clenched teeth and tried to hang on, pouring magic into her—only to feel her touch sparking with magic as well. It surged through him, liquid bliss, annihilating higher thoughts and any semblance of control. As he cried out at the top of his lungs, his muscles seizing as the waves of his climax pounded over him, Solas dimly heard Ellana follow him, her moaning reaching a crescendo that mimicked the motion of her hips. When her slick muscles clamped over him, heightening his pleasure again, Solas gasped into the crook of her shoulder, his body seizing with the force of his release.

They collapsed onto the bed together, still holding each other as the fast, ragged noise of their breaths echoed through the room. Little tremors tore through Solas as he gazed with bleary eyes at Ellana, smiling tenderly. He raised one hand to her cheek, idly tucking her loose lock of hair over her ear and out of her face.

Her green eyes twinkled in the dimness. "Ar lath ma, falon'saota," she said lazily, snuggling closer to him, one arm moving around his waist as she laid her head on his chest.

"Ar lath ma," he answered, stroking his fingers up and down her bare back as he let out a husky chuckle and added, "Falon'saota." He closed his eyes, feeling the dreaming call to him.

Tomorrow and the next few days the clan would celebrate and, barring any unforeseen attacks or disasters, they would see peace and quiet reign over the next week or two. But then responsibility would draw them back to serving the People once again. They needed to restore the Fade to the rest of the Dales and contend with Orlais if the empress refused to uphold her word in the coming months. They needed to establish agriculture and construct new homes and towns to house the People, for those present now, those who had yet to arrive, and those who had not yet been born. Creating chaos had been easy compared to generating and enforcing order.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Solas sighed, letting himself relax though his fingers didn't still on Ellana's back. "I will see you in the Fade, ma vhenan," he whispered.

Her palm dragged its way up from his waist, caressing his skin until they reached his chest. She splayed her fingers there and let out a contented hum in the back of her throat. "Always," she answered drowsily. "Always."


End file.
